All human things Of dearest value hang on slender strings.
Vexed sailors cursed the rain, for which poor shepherds prayed in vain.
Tea does our fancy aid, Repress those vapours which the head invade And keeps that palace of the soul serene.
With wisdom fraught; not such as books, but such as practice taught.
So must the writer, whose productions should Take with the vulgar, be of vulgar mould.
What use of oaths, of promise, or of test, where men regard no God but interest?