Freedom hath a thousand charms to show, That slaves however contented never know

An epigram is but a feeble thing - With straw in tail, stuck there by way of sting

The earth was made so various, that the mind Of desultory man, studious of change, And pleased with novelty, might be indulged

Man may dismiss compassion from his heart, but God never will

A business with a income at its heels, furnishes always oil for its own wheels

Ye fearful saints fresh courage take, The clouds you so much dread Are big with mercy and shall break, With blessings on your head

Absence of occupation is not rest a mind quite vacant is a mind distressed

Absence from whom we love is worse than death, and frustrates hope severer than despair

Tis hard if all is false that I advance, A fool must now and then be right, by chance

A fool must now and then be right, by chance