Revere thyself, and yet thyself despise
Sweet instinct leaps; slow reason feebly climbs.
As soon as we have found the key of life, it opens the gates of death.
What is a miracle?--'Tis a reproach, 'Tis an implicit satire on mankind; And while it satisfies, it censures too.
Accept a miracle, instead of wit See two dull lines, with Stanhope's pencil writ.
'T is impious in a good man to be sad.