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 Make the way smooth for me, When I, thy Herrick, Honouring thee, on my knee Offer my lyric. Candles I'll give to thee, And a new altar, And thou, Saint Ben, shall be Writ in my Psalter.

Give Want her welcome if she comes; we find Riches to be but burdens to the mind.

Who with a little cannot be content, Endures an everlasting punishment.

Let's live with that small pittance that we have; Who covets more, is evermore a slave.

When laws full power have to sway, we see Little or no part there of tyranny.