Thus Belial, With Words Clothed

Who Can Enjoy Alone? Or All Enjoying What Contentment Find?

If All The World Should In A Pet Of Temp'rance, Feed On Pulse, Drink The Clear Stream, And Nothing Wear But Frieze, Th' All-giver Would Be Unthank'd, Would Be Unprais'd.

Let Her (truth) And Falsehood Grapple; Who Ever Knew Truth Put To The Worse In A Free And Open Encounter?

It Were A Journey Like The Path To Heaven, To Help You Find Them.

Luck Is The Residue Of Design.