Unable to corrupt, seek to destroy; And where their Poysons miss, the Sword employ. - Abraham Cowley

Oh happy, (if his happiness he knows)
The Countrey Swain! on whom kind Heav'n bestows
At home all Riches that wise Nature needs;
Whom the just Earth with easie plenty feeds.

His faith, perhaps, in some nice tenets might
Be wrong; his life, I'm sure, was in the right.

I sing the Man who Judahs Scepter bore
In that right hand which held the Crook before;
Who from best Poet, best of Kings did grow;
The two chief gifts Heav'n could on Man bestow.