And Seem To Walk On Wings, And

While Pensive Poets Painful Vigils Keep, Sleepless Themselves, To Give Their Readers Sleep.

Know Then This Truth, Enough For Man To Know Virtue Alone Is Happiness Below.

O Peace! How Many Wars Were Waged In Thy Name.

Trace Science, Then, With Modesty Thy Guide, First Strip Off All Her Equipage Of Pride, Deduct What Is But Vanity Or Dress, Or Learning's Luxury Or Idleness, Or Tricks, To Show The Stretch Of The Human Brain Mere Curious Pleasure Or Ingenious Pain.

Praise From A Friend, Or Censure From A Foe, Are Lost On Hearers That Our Merits Know.