They Who Have Put Out The People's

For Men To Tell How Human Life Began Is Hard; For Who Himself Beginning Knew?

With Cowslips Wan That Hang The Pensive Head, And Every Flower That Sad Embroidery Wears.

What Honour That, But Tedious Waste Of Time, To Sit And Hear So Many Hollow Compliments And Lies.

What Need A Man Forestall His Date Of Grief, And Run To Meet What He Would Most Avoid?.

By This Time, Like One Who Had Set Out On His Way By Night, And Travelled Through A Region Of Smooth Or Idle Dreams, Our History Now Arrives On The Confines, Where Daylight And Truth Meet Us With A Clear Dawn, Representing To Our View, Though At A Far Distance, True Colours And Shapes.