Maxioms by Robert Pollok
'Twas slander filled her mouth with lying words;
Slander, the foulest whelp of Sin.
'Twas slander filled her mouth with lying words;
Slander, the foulest whelp of Sin.
But when to mischief mortals bend their will,
How soon they find fit instruments of ill.
But when to mischief mortals bend their will,
How soon they find fit instruments of ill.
Virtue alone is happiness below.
Virtue alone is happiness below.
What mighty contests rise from trivial things.
What mighty contests rise from trivial things.
'Tis all in vain to keep a constant pother
About one vice and fall into another.
'Tis all in vain to keep a constant pother
About one vice and fall into another.
