All truth is precious, if not all divine; and what dilates the powers must needs refine.
Made poetry a mere mechanic art.
God moves in mysterious ways His wonders to performs
Lived in his saddle, loved the chase, the course, And always, ere he mounted, kiss'd his horse.
Unmissed but by his dogs and by his groom.
Thus happiness depends, as nature shows, less on exterior things than most suppose.