From vulgar bounds with brave disorder part, And snatch a grace beyond the reach of art.
Words are like Leaves; and where they most abound, Much Fruit of Sense beneath is rarely found.
You purchase pain with all that joy can give and die of nothing but a rage to live.
In faith and hope the world will disagree, but all mankind's concern is charity.
Fly, dotard, fly! With thy wise dreams and fables of the sky.
Tis true, 'tis certain; man, though dead, retains Part of himself; the immortal mind remains.