0 Summer Friendship, Whose Flat-tering Leaves Shadowed

He That Would Govern Others, First Should Be The Master Of Himself.

I Have Play'd The Fool, The Gross Fool, To Believe The Bosom Of A Friend Will Hold A Secret Mine Own Could Not Contain.

Before We End Our Pilgrimage, 'tis Fit That We Should Leave Corruption, And Foul Sin, Behind Us, But With Wash'd Feet And Hands, The Heathens Dar' Not Enter Their Profane Temples; And For Me To Hope My Passage To Eternity Can Be Made Easy, Till I Have Shook Off The Burthen Of My Sins In Free Confession, Aided With Sorrow, And Repentance For Them, Is Against Reason.

Man Was Mark'd A Friend In His Creation To Himself, And May, With Fit Ambition, Conceive The Greatest Blessings, And The Highest Honors Appointed For Him, If He Can Achieve Them The Right And Noble Way.

Oh That Thou Hadst Like Others Been All Words, And No Performance.