Others may use the ocean as their road; Only the English make it their abode.
Circle are praised, not that abound, In largeness, but the exactly round.
Could we forbear dispute, and practise love, We should agree as angels do above.
Tea does our fancy aid, Repress those vapours which the head invade, And keeps that palace of the soul serene.
The fear of hell, or aiming to be blest, savors too much of private interest.
And as pale sickness does invade, Your frailer part, the breaches made, In that fair lodging still more clear, Make the bright guest, your soul, appear.