And Each Blasphemer Quite Escape The Rod,

Seas Roll To Waft Me, Suns To Light Me Rise; My Footstool Earth, My Canopy The Skies.

True Wit Is Nature To Advantage Dressed; What Oft Was Thought, But Ne'er So Well Expressed.

Condition, Circumstance, Is Not The Thing; Bliss Is The Same In Subject Or In King.

While Man Exclaims, "see All Things For My Use!" "see Man For Mine!" Replies A Pamper'd Goose.

So Perish All Who Do The Like Again.