I Am His Highness' Dog At Kew;

Be Silent Always When You Doubt Your Sense.

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

He Knows To Live Who Keeps The Middle State, And Neither Leans On This Side Nor On That.

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.

The Worst Of Madmen Is A Saint Run Mad.