[Government]
The strongest poison ever known
Came from Caesar's laurel crown.
A dog starv'd at his Master's gate
Predicts the ruin of the State.
A truth that's told with bad intent
Beats all the lies you can invent.
One mite wrung from the labourer's hands
Shall buy and sell the miser's lands:
Or, if protected form on high,
Does that whole nation sell and buy.
The whore and gambler, by the state
licensed, build that nation's fate:
The winner's shout, the loser's curse,
Dance before [that nation's] hearse.

 [The Human Condition]
It is right, it should be so;
Man was made for joy and woe;
And when this we rightly know,
Thro' the world we safely go.
Joy and woe are woven fine,
A clothing for the sole devine;
Under every grief and pine,
Runs a joy with silken twine.

 [Charity]
The beggar's dog and widow's cat,
Feed them, and thou wilt grow fat.
The beggar's rags, fluttering in air,
Does to rags the heavens tear.
The poor man's farthing is worth more
Than all the gold on Afric's shore.
One mite wrung from the labourer's hands
Shall buy and sell the miser's lands:
Or, if protected form on high,
Does that whole nation sell and buy.
When gold and gems adorn the plough
To peaceful arts shall Envy bow.

[Animals and Man]
A robin redbreast in a cage
Puts all Heaven in a rage.
A dove-house fill'd with doves and pigeons
Shudders Hell thro' all its regions.
A dog starv'd at his master's gate
Predicts the ruin of the State.
A horse misus'd upon the road
Calls to Heaven for human blood.
Each outcry of the hunted hair
A fiber from the brain does tear.
A skylark wounded in the wing,
A cherubin does cease to sing.
The game-cock clipt and arm'd for fight
Does the rising sun affright.
The wild deer, wandering here and there,
Keeps the Human soul from care.
The lamb misus'd breeds public strife,
And yet forgives the weaver's knife.
He who shall hurt the little wren
Shall never be belov'd by men.
He who the ox to wrath has mov'd
Shall never be by woman lov'd.
The wanton boy that kills the fly
Shall feel the spider's enmity.
He who torments the chafer's sprite
Weaves a bower in endless night.
Kill not the moth nor butterfly,
For the Last Judgment draweth nigh.