A Man Who Leaves Home To Mend

The Wretch Condemn'd With Life To Part, Still, Still On Hope Relies; And Every Pang That Rends The Heart Bids Expectation Rise.

Like The Bee, We Should Make Our Industry Our Amusement.

But Times Are Alter'd; Trade's Unfeeling Train Usurp The Land, And Dispossess The Swain; Along The Lawn, Where Scatter'd Hamlets Rose, Unwieldy Wealth And Cumbrous Pomp Repose.

Creation's Heir, The World, The World Is Mine!

Well Had The Boding Tremblers Learned To Trace The Day's Disasters In His Morning Face.