With A Bloody Flux Of

Though Virtue Give A Ragged Livery, She Gives A Golden Cognizance; If Her Service Make Thee Poor, Blush Not. Thy Poverty May Disadvantage Thee, But Not Dishonor Thee.

Alas! Fond Child, How Are Thy Thoughts Beguil'd To Hope For Honey From A Nest Of Wasps? Thou May'st As Well Go Seek For Ease In Hell, Or Sprightly Nectar From The Mouths Of Asps. The World's A Hive, From Whence Thou Canst Derive No Good, But What Thy Soul's Vexation Brings: But Case Thou Meet Some Petty-petty Sweet, Each Drop Is Guarded With A Thousand Stings.

What Well-advised Ear Regards What Earth Can Say? Thy Words Are Gold, But Thy Rewards Are Painted Clay.

Prize Not Thyself By What Thou Hast, But By What Thou Art; He That Values A Jewel By Her Golden Frame, Or A Book By Her Silver Clasps, Or A Man By His Vast Estate, Errs; If Thou Art Not Worth More Than The World Can Make Thee, Thy Redeemer Had A Bad Pennyworth, Or Thou An Uncurious Redeemer.

If Thou Be Rich, Strive To Command Thy Money, Lest It Command Thee.