He Hurts Me Most Who Lavishly Commends.

Who, With Tame Cowardice Familiar Grown, Would Hear My Thoughts, But Fear To Speak Their Own.

Most Of Those Evils We Poor Mortals Know From Doctors And Imagination Flow.

A Servile Race Who, In Mere Want Of Fault, All Merit Place; Who Blind Obedience Pay To Ancient Schools, Bigots To Greece, And Slaves To Musty Rules.

Childhood, Who Like An April Morn Appears, Sunshine And Rain, Hopes Clouded O'er With Fears.

The Oak, When Living, Monarch Of The Wood; The English Oak, Which, Dead, Commands The Flood.