Content if hence th' unlearn'd their wants may view, The learn'd reflect on what before they knew.
The bookful blockhead, ignorantly read With loads of learned lumber in his head.
'Tis not a lip, or eye, we beauty call, But the joint force and full result of all.
But blind to former as to future fate, what mortal knows his pre-existent state?
Wholesome solitude, the nurse of sense!
Our business in the field of fight, Is not to question, but to prove our might.