A wit with dunces, and a dunce with wits.

"With ev'ry pleasing, ev'ry prudent part, Say, what can Chloe want?"-She wants a heart.

Pleased to the last, he crops the flowery food, And licks the hand just raised to shed his blood.

Praise from a friend, or censure from a foe, Are lost on hearers that our merits know.

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

Lulled in the countless chambers of the brain, our thoughts are linked by many a hidden chain; awake but one, and in, what myriads rise!

Truths would you teach, or save a sinking land? All fear, none aid you, and few understand.