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There are, while human miseries abound, A thousand ways to waste superfluous wealth, Without one fool or flatterer at your board, Without one hour of sickness or disgust.

John Armstrong

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John Armstrong
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Virtue and sense are one and, trust me, still A faithless heart betrays the head unsound.
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Impious! forbear thus the first general hail. To disappoint, Increase and multiply, To shed thy blossoms thro' the desert air, And sow thy perish'd offspring in the winds.
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Good native Taste, tho' rude, is seldom wrong, Be it in music, painting, or in song: But this, as well as other faculties, Improves with age and ripens by degrees.
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Music exalts each joy, allays each grief, expels diseases, softens every pain.
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Time shakes the stable tyranny of thrones, And tottering empires rush by their own weight.
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