The World To Bacon Does Not Only

Fiction Is Of The Essence Of Poetry As Well As Of Painting; There Is A Resemblance In One Of Human Bodies, Things, And Actions Which Are Not Real, And In The Other Of A True Story By Fiction.

To So Perverse A Sex All Grace Is Vain.

The Good We Have Enjoyed From Heaven's Free Will, And Shall We Murmur To Endure The Ill?

Like Pilgrims To Th' Appointed Place We Tend; The World's An Inn, And Death The Journey's End.

Happy, Happy, Happy Pair! None But The Brave Deserves The Fair.