No Woman Ever Hates A Man For

So Modern 'pothecaries, Taught The Art By Doctor's Bills To Play The Doctor's Part, Bold In The Practice Of Mistaken Rules, Prescribe, Apply, And Call Their Masters Fools.

Here Hills And Vales, The Woodland And The Plain Here Earth And Water Seem To Strive Again, Not Chaos-like Together Crushed And Bruised, But, As The World, Harmoniously Confused: Where Order In Variety We See, And Where, Though All Things Differ, All Agree.

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

Drink Is The Feast Of Reason And The Flow Of Soul.

And Soften'd Sounds Along The Waters Die: Smooth Flow The Waves, The Zephyrs Gently Play.