Content if hence th' unlearn'd their wants may view, The learn'd reflect on what before they knew.

Slave to no sect, who takes no private road, But looks through Nature up to Nature's God.

The lights and shades, whose well-accorded strife gives all the strength and color of our life.

Whether the charmer sinner it, or saint it, If folly grow romantic, I must paint it.

Whate'er the talents, or howe'er designed, We hang one jingling padlock on the mind.

From vulgar bounds with brave disorder part, And snatch a grace beyond the reach of art.

The dull flat falsehood serves for policy, and in the cunning, truth's itself a lie.