Edward Moore

Can't I another's face commend,
Or to her virtues be a friend,
But instantly your forehead louers,
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Can't I another's face commend,
Or to her virtues be a friend,
But instantly your forehead louers,
As if her merit lessen'd yours?

But from the hoop's bewitching round,
He very shoe has power to wound.

But from the hoop's bewitching round,
He very shoe has power to wound.

So shall they build me altars in their zeal,
Where knaves shall minister, and fools shall kneel:
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So shall they build me altars in their zeal,
Where knaves shall minister, and fools shall kneel:
Where faith may mutter o'er her mystic spell,
Written in blood--and Bigotry may swell
The sail he spreads for Heav'n with blasts from hell!

I am rich beyond the dreams of avarice.

I am rich beyond the dreams of avarice.