And as pale sickness does invade, Your frailer part, the breaches made, In that fair lodging still more clear, Make the bright guest, your soul, appear.

The chain that's fixed to the throne of Jove, On which the fabric of our world depends, One link dissolved, the whole creation ends.

Illustrious acts high raptures do infuse, And every conqueror creates a muse.

Give us enough but with a sparing hand.

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

With wisdom fraught; not such as books, but such as practice taught.

Stronger by weakness, wiser men become.