Is It, In Heav'n, A Crime To

But Honest Instinct Comes A Volunteer; Sure Never To O'er-shoot, But Just To Hit, While Still Too Wide Or Short In Human Wit.

As With Narrow-necked Bottles; The Less They Have In Them, The More Noise They Make In Pouring Out.

The Dull Flat Falsehood Serves For Policy, And In The Cunning, Truth's Itself A Lie.

Pleased To The Last, He Crops The Flowery Food, And Licks The Hand Just Raised To Shed His Blood.

Not To Go Back Is Somewhat To Advance, And Men Must Walk, At Least, Before They Dance.