God Forbid That Truth Should Be Confined

He Loves To Sit And Hear Me Sing, Then, Laughing, Sports And Plays With Me; Then Stretches Out My Golden Wing, And Mocks My Loss Of Liberty.

But To Go To School In A Summer Morn, O! It Drives All Joy Away; Under A Cruel Eye Outworn, The Little Ones Spend The Day In Sighing And Dismay.

Then My Verse I Dishonor, My Pictures Despise, My Person Degrade And My Temper Chastise; And The Pen Is My Terror, The Pencil My Shame; And My Talents I Bury, And Dead Is My Fame.

Nothing Can Be More Contemptible Than To Suppose Public Records To Be True.

Work Up Imagination To The State Of Vision.