A narrow compass! and yet there Dwelt all that 's good, and all that 's fair; Give me but what this riband bound, Take all the rest the sun goes round.

Give us enough but with a sparing hand.

With wisdom fraught; not such as books, but such as practice taught.

And as pale sickness does invade, Your frailer part, the breaches made, In that fair lodging still more clear, Make the bright guest, your soul, appear.

Tea does our fancy aid, Repress those vapours which the head invade And keeps that palace of the soul serene.

Stronger by weakness, wiser men become.

Circle are praised, not that abound, In largeness, but the exactly round.