Sometimes Virtue Starves While Vice Is Fed.

True Wit Is Nature To Advantage Dressed; What Oft Was Thought, But Ne'er So Well Expressed.

Oh, Blindness To The Future! Kindly Giv'n, That Each May Fill The Circle Mark'd By Heaven.

Poets Like Painters, Thus Unskilled To Trace The Naked Nature And The Living Grace, With Gold And Jewels Cover Ev'ry Part, And Hide With Ornaments Their Want Of Art. True Wit Is Nature To Advantage Dressed, What Oft Was Thought, But Ne'er So Well Expressed.

What Conscience Dictates To Be Done, Or Warns Me Not To Do; This Teach Me More Than Hell To Shun, That More Than Heav'n Pursue.

Who Pants For Glory, Finds But Short Repose; A Breath Revives Him, Or A Breath O'erthrows.