A Moral, Sensible, And Well-bred Manwill Not

Remorse, The Fatal Egg That Pleasure Laid.

Tis Providence Alone Secures In Every Change Both Mine And Yours.

In Man Or Woman, But Far Most In Man, And Most Of All In Man That Ministers, And Serves The Altar, In My Soul I Loathe All Affectation. 'tis My Perfect Scorn: Object Of My Implacable Disgust.

How Sweet, How Passing Sweet, Is Solitude! But Grant Me Still A Friend In My Retreat, Whom I May Whisper, Solitude Is Sweet.

All Affectation; 'tis My Perfect Scorn; Object Of My Implacable Disgust.