I've known my lady (for she loves a tune) For fevers take an opera in June: And, though perhaps you'll think the practice bold, A midnight park is sov'reign for a cold.

Groan under gold, yet weep for want of bread.

The clouds may drop down titles and estates, and wealth may seek us, but wisdom must be sought.

Praise, more divine than prayer; prayer points our ready path to heaven; praise is already there.

Midway from Nothing to the Deity!

Creation sleeps! 'T is as the general pulse Of life stood still, and Nature made a pause,- An awful pause! prophetic of her end.

Of man's miraculous mistakes, this bears The palm, "That all men are about to live."