Fly, dotard, fly! With thy wise dreams and fables of the sky.
Still when the lust of tyrant power succeeds, some Athens perishes, or some Tully bleeds.
The life of a wit is a warfare upon earth.
The soul's calm sunshine, and the heartfelt joy.
On her white breast a sparkling cross she wore, Which Jews might kiss and infidels adore.
Our passions are like convulsion fits, which, though they make us stronger for a time, leave us the weaker ever after.