Tea does our fancy aid, Repress those vapours which the head invade And keeps that palace of the soul serene.

Happy the innocent whose equal thoughts are free from anguish as they are from faults.

So must the writer, whose productions should Take with the vulgar, be of vulgar mould.

All things but one you can restore; the heart you get returns no more.

Music so softens and disarms the mind That not an arrow does resistance find.

His love at once and dread instruct our thought; As man He suffer'd and as God He taught.

Poets that lasting marble seek, Must come in Latin or in Greek.