Wretches Hang That Jurymen May Dine.

What Woeful Stuff This Madrigal Would Be, In Some Starved Hackney Sonneteer, Or Me! But Let A Lord Once Own The Happy Lines, How The Wit Brightens! How The Style Refines!

When Much Dispute Has Past, We Find Our Tenets Just The Same As Last.

Reason's Whole Pleasure, All The Joys Of Sense, Lie In Three Words,-health, Peace, And Competence.

And Empty Heads Console With Empty Sound.

Die Of A Rose In Aromatic Pain.