Man, like the generous vine, supported lives; the strength he gains is from the embrace he gives.

Praise undeserved, is satire in disguise.

From vulgar bounds with brave disorder part, And snatch a grace beyond the reach of art.

The lamb thy riot dooms to bleed today, Had he thy reason, would he skip and play? Pleas'd to the last he crops the flow'ry food, And licks the hand just rais'd to shed his blood.

Who taught that heaven-directed spire to rise?

Where London's column, pointing at the skies, Like a tall bully, lifts the head, and lies.

Pleas'd look forward, pleas'd to look behind,And count each birthday with a grateful mind.