No Man Ever Became Very Wicked All

Every Fault Of The Mind Becomes More Conspicuous And More Guilty In Proportion To The Rank Of The Offender

There Will He Nothing More That Posterity Can Add To Our Immoral Habits; Our Descendants Must Have The Same Desires And Act The Same Follies As Their Sires. Every Vice Has Reached Its Zenith.

For He, Who Gave This Vast Machine To Roll, Breathed Life In Then, In Us A Reasoning Soul; That Kindred Feelings Might Our State Improve, And Mutual Wants Conduct To Mutual Love.

They Whose Sole Bliss Is Eating Can Give But That One Brutish Reason Why They Live.

All Arts His Own, The Hungry Greekling Counts; And Bid Him Mount The Skies, The Skies He Mounts.