I am his Highness' dog at Kew; Pray tell me, sir, whose dog are you?
To wake the soul by tender strokes of art, To raise the genius, and to mend the heart; To make mankind, in conscious virtue bold, Live o'er each Seene, and be what they behold: For this the Tragic Muse first trod the stage.
Fools rush in where angels fear to tread.
Charm strikes the sight, but merit wins the soul.
O peace! how many wars were waged in thy name.
Statesman, yet friend to truth! of soul sincere, In action faithful, and in honour clear; Who broke no promise, serv'd no private end, Who gain'd no title, and who lost no friend.