5 quotes
This mournful truth is ev'rywhere confessed —
Slow rises worth, by poverty depressed.
London: A Poem (1738)
Some fiery fop, with new commission vain,
Who sleeps on brambles till he kills his man;
Some frolic drunkard, reeling from a feast,
Provokes a broil, and stabs you for a jest.
London: A Poem (1738)
All Crimes are safe, but hated Poverty.
This, only this, the rigid Law persues.
London: A Poem (1738)
Of all the Griefs that harrass the Distrest,
Sure the most bitter is a scornful Jest
London: A Poem (1738)
By Numbers here from Shame or Censure free,
All Crimes are safe, but hated Poverty.
This, only this, the rigid Law persues,
This, only this, provokes the snarling Muse.
London: A Poem (1738)