How Glowing Guilt Exalts The Keen Delight!

To Be, Contents His Natural Desire, He Asks No Angel's Wing, No Seraph's Fire; But Thinks, Admitted To That Equal Sky, His Faithful Dog Shall Bear Him Company. Go Wiser Thou! And In Thy Scale Of Sense Weigh Thy Opinion Against Providence.

Gentle Dullness Ever Loves A Joke.

Oft, As In Airy Rings They Skim The Heath, The Clamtrous Lapwings Feel The Leaden Death; Oft, As The Mounting Larks Their Notes Prepare They Fall, And Leave Their Little Lives In Air.

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

The Proper Study Of Mankind Is Man.