A Work Of Art That

If Faith Itself Has Different Dresses Worn, What Wonder Modes In Wit Should Take Their Turn?

Virtue, I Grant You, Is An Empty Boast; But Shall The Dignity Of Vice Be Lost?

Then Marble, Soften'd Into Life, Grew Warm.

What Then Remains, But Well Our Power To Use, And Keep Good-humor Still Whate'er We Lose? And Trust Me, Dear, Good-humor Can Prevail, When Airs, And Flights, And Screams, And Scolding Fail.

Virtue Alone Is Happiness Below.