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.
The seas are quiet when the winds give o'er; So calm are we when passions are no more!
But virtue too, as well as vice, is clad in flesh and blood.
Poets that lasting marble seek, Must come in Latin or in Greek.
Ingenious to their ruin, every age improves the art and instruments of rage.
Give us enough but with a sparing hand.