Gods, that never change their state, vary oft their love and hate.

The seas are quiet when the winds give o'er; So calm are we when passions are no more!

The lark that shuns on lofty boughs to build, Her humble nest, lies silent in the field.

The chain that's fixed to the throne of Jove, On which the fabric of our world depends, One link dissolved, the whole creation ends.

Thrice happy is that humble pair, Beneath the level of all care! Over whose heads those arrows fly, Of sad distrust and jealousy.

Others may use the ocean as their road; Only the English make it their abode.

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