But Jest Apart--what Virtue Canst Thou Trace

Temp'rate In Every Place--abroad, At Home, Thence Will Applause, And Hence Will Profit Come; And Health From Either--he In Time Prepares For Sickness, Age, And Their Attendant Cares.

Anger Makes Us Strong, Blind And Impatient, And It Leads Us Wrong; The Strength Is Quickly Lost; We Feel The Error Long.

Oh! 'tis A Precious Thing, When Wives Are Dead, To Find Such Numbers Who Will Serve Instead: And In Whatever State A Man Be Thrown, 'tis That Precisely They Would Wish Their Own.

't Was Good Advice, And Meant, My Son, Be Good.

To Every Class We Have A School Assign'd, Rules For All Ranks, And Food For Every Mind: Yet One There Is, That Small Regard To Rule Or Study Pays, And Still Is Deem'd A School; That, Where A Deaf, Poor, Patient Widow Sits, And Awes Some Thirty Infants As She Knits; Infants Of Humble, Busy Wives, Who Pay Some Trifling Price For Freedom Through The Day. At This Good Matron's Hut The Children Meet, Who Thus Becomes The Mother Of The Street.