A Disputant No More Cares For The

Oh! Blest With Temper, Whose Unclouded Ray Can Make To-morrow Cheerful As To-day.

Such Labour'd Nothings, In So Strange A Style, Amaze Th' Unlearn'd And Make The Learned Smile.

Count All Th' Advantage Prosperous Vice Attains, 'tis But What Virtue Flies From And Disdains: And Grant The Bad What Happiness They Would, One They Must Want--which Is, To Pass For Good.

And Each Blasphemer Quite Escape The Rod, Because The Insult's Not On Man, But God?

Be Thou The First True Merit To Befriend, His Praise Is Lost Who Stays Till All Commend.