Who Taught That Heaven-directed Spire To Rise?

We Think Our Fathers Fools, So Wise We Grow. Our Wiser Sons, No Doubt Will Think Us So.

Bear, Like The Turk, No Brother Near The Throne.

Poets Like Painters, Thus Unskilled To Trace The Naked Nature And The Living Grace, With Gold And Jewels Cover Ev'ry Part, And Hide With Ornaments Their Want Of Art. True Wit Is Nature To Advantage Dressed, What Oft Was Thought, But Ne'er So Well Expressed.

Truth Shines The Brighter, Clad In Verse.

In The Nice Bee, What Sense So Subtly True From Pois'nous Herbs Extracts The Healing Dew?