All Nature Is But Art, Unknown To

Love Finds An Altar For Forbidden Fires.

For Wit And Judgment Often Are At Strife, Though Meant Each Other's Aid, Like Man And Wife.

I Lose My Patience, And I Own It Too, When Works Are Censur'd, Not As Bad But New; While If Our Elders Break All Reason's Laws, These Fools Demand Not Pardon But Applause.

Know Then Thyself, Presume Not God To Scan; The Proper Study Of Mankind Is Man.

But Touch Me, And No Minister So Sore. Whoe'er Offends, At Some Unlucky Time Slides Into Verse, And Hitches In A Rhyme, Sacred To Ridicule His Whole Life Long, And The Sad Burthen Of Some Merry Song.