Here am I, dying of a hundred good symptoms.
Like Cato, give his little senate laws, and sit attentive to his own applause.
From vulgar bounds with brave disorder part, And snatch a grace beyond the reach of art.
See skulking Truth to her old cavern fled, Mountains of Casuistry heap'd o'er her head! Philosophy, that lean'd on Heav'n before, Shrinks to her second cause, and is no more. Physic of Metaphysic begs defence, And Metaphysic calls for aid on Sense! See Mystery to Mathematics fly!
Is it, in heav'n, a crime to love too well?
Judge not of actions by their mere effect; Dive to the center, and the cause detect. Great deeds from meanest springs may take their course, And smallest virtues from a mighty source.