With eye upraised his master's look to scan, The joy, the solace, and the aid of man: The rich man's guardian and the poor man's friend, The only creature faithful to the end.

Fears of sinning let in thoughts of sin.

Better to love amiss than nothing to have loved.

The game is never lost till won.

Feed the musician, and he's out of tune.

Hence, in these times, untouch'd the pages lie, And slumber out their immortality.

This, books can do-nor this alone; they give New views to life, and teach us how to live; They soothe the grieved, the stubborn they chastise; Fools they admonish, and confirm the wise. Their aid they yield to all: they never shun The man of sorrow, nor the wretch undone; Unlike the hard, the selfish, and the proud, They fly not sullen from the suppliant crowd; Nor tell to various people various things, But show to subjects, what they show to kings.