On wrongs swift vengeance waits.

Where beams of imagination play, the memory's soft figures melt away.

Some judge of authors' names, not works, and then Nor praise nor blame the writings, but the men.

For thee I dim these eye and stuff this head With all such reading as was never read.

All nature's diff'rence keeps all nature's peace.

We think our fathers fools, so wise we grow. Our wiser sons, no doubt will think us so.

See skulking Truth to her old cavern fled, Mountains of Casuistry heap'd o'er her head! Philosophy, that lean'd on Heav'n before, Shrinks to her second cause, and is no more. Physic of Metaphysic begs defence, And Metaphysic calls for aid on Sense! See Mystery to Mathematics fly!