The Lot Of Man - To Suffer

No Silver Saints, By Dying Misers Giv'n, Here Brib'd The Rage Of Ill-requited Heav'n; But Such Plain Roofs As Piety Could Raise, And Only Vocal With The Maker's Praise.

For Forms Of Faith Let Graceless Zealots Fight; His Can't Be Wrong Whose Life Is In The Right.

And Binding Nature Fast In Fate, Left Free The Human Will.

Avoid Extremes; And Shun The Fault Of Such Who Still Are Pleas'd Too Little Or Too Much.

Therefore They Who Say Our Thoughts Are Not Our Own Because They Resemble The Ancients, May As Well Say Our Faces Are Not Our Own, Because They Are Like Our Fathers: And Indeed It Is Very Unreasonable, That People Should Expect Us To Be Scholars, And Yet Be Angry To Find Us So.