O father Abram, what these Christians are, Whose own hard dealing teaches them suspect The thoughts of others!

So we'll live, And pray, and sing, and tell old tales, and laugh at gilded butterflies.

The purest treasure mortal times can afford is a spotless reputation.

One fairer than my love? The all-seeing sun Ne'er saw her match since first the world begun.

How sharper than a serpent's tooth it is to have a thankless child!

Make me a willow cabin at your gate, And call upon my soul within the house; Write loyal cantons of contemned love And sing them loud even in the dead of night.

I see a woman may be made a fool, If she had not a spirit to resist.