Give us enough but with a sparing hand.
That eagle's fate and mine are one, Which, on the shaft that made him die, Espied a feather of his own, Wherewith he wont to soar so high.
Poets that lasting marble seek, Must come in Latin or in Greek.
But virtue too, as well as vice, is clad in flesh and blood.
His love at once and dread instruct our thought; As man He suffer'd and as God He taught.
The fear of Hell, or aiming to be blest, Savors too much of private interest. This moved not Moses, nor the zealous Paul, Who for their friends abandoned soul and all.