Curse On All Laws But Those Which

The Bookful Blockhead Ignorantly Read, With Loads Of Learned Lumber In His Head, With His Own Tongue Still Edifies His Ears, And Always List'ning To Himself Appears. All Books He Reads, And All He Reads Assails.

But Those Who Cannot Write, And Those Who Can, All Rhyme, And Scrawl, And Scribble, To A Man.

The Heart Resolves This Matter In A Trice, "men Only Feel The Smart, But Not The Vice.

Self-love, The Spring Of Motion, Acts The Soul; Reason's Comparing Balance Rules The Whole. Man, But For That No Action Could Attend, And, But For This, Were Active To No End: Fix'd Like A Plant On His Peculiar Spot, To Draw Nutrition, Propagate, And Rot; Or, Meteor-like, Flame Lawless Thro' The Void, Destroying Others, By Himself Destroy'd.

Whether With Reason, Or With Instinct Blest, Know, All Enjoy That Pow'r Which Suits Them Best.