A Mighty Maze! But Not Without A

Offend Her, And She Knows Not To Forgive; Oblige Her, And She'll Hate You While You Live.

Leave Not A Foot Of Verse, A Foot Of Stone, A Page, A Grave, That They Can Call Their Own; But Spread, My Sons, Your Glory Thin Or Thick, On Passive Paper, Or On Solid Brick.

Then, At The Last And Only Couplet Fraught With Some Unmeaning Thing They Call A Thought, A Needless Alexandrine Ends The Song, That, Like A Wounded Snake, Drags Its Slow Length Along.

To What Base Ends, And By What Abject Ways, Are Mortals Urg'd Through Sacred Lust Of Praise!

I Never Knew Any Man In My Life Who Could Not Bear Another's Misfortunes Perfectly Like A Christian.