As children gath'ring pebbles on the shore. Or if I would delight my private hours With music or with poem, where so soon As in our native language can I find That solace?

Nor aught availed him now to have built in heaven high towers; nor did he scrape by all his engines, but was headlong sent with his industrious crew to build in hell.

And join with thee calm Peace and Quiet, Spare Fast, that oft with gods doth diet.

The olive grove of Academe, Plato's retirement, where the Attic bird Trills her thick-warbled notes the summer long.

Awake, arise or be for ever fall’n.

A grateful mind/ By owing owes not, but still pays, at once/ Indebted and discharg'd.

God sure esteems the growth and completing of one virtuous person, more that the restraint of ten vicious.