The bookful blockhead, ignorantly read With loads of learned lumber in his head.
But those who cannot write, and those who can, All rhyme, and scrawl, and scribble, to a man.
The soul's calm sunshine, and the heartfelt joy.
Devotion's self shall steal a thought from heaven.
Of all the causes which conspire to blind Man's erring judgement, and misguide the mind, What the weak head with strongest bias rules, Is PRIDE, the never-failing vice of fools.
I find myself hoping a total end of all the unhappy divisions of mankind by party-spirit, which at best is but the madness of many for the gain of a few.