Then Marble, Soften'd Into Life, Grew Warm.

Virtue, I Grant You, Is An Empty Boast; But Shall The Dignity Of Vice Be Lost?

Though Triumphs Were To Generals Only Due, Crowns Were Reserved To Grace The Soldiers Too.

Whoever Thinks A Faultless Piece To See, Thinks What Ne'er Was, Nor Is, Nor E'er Shall Be.

The Sound Must Seem An Echo To The Sense.

To Err Is Human; To Forgive, Divine.