Any Fool May Write A

Can Storied Urn, Or Animated Bust Back To Its Mansion Call The Fleeting Breath? Can Honour's Voice Provoke The Silent Dust, Or Flatt'ry Soothe The Dull Cold Ear Of Death?

Her Track, Where'er The Goddess Roves, Glory Pursue, And Gen'rous Shame, Th' Unconquerable Mind, And Freedom's Holy Flame.

Man's Feeble Race What Ills Await! Labour, And Penury, The Racks Of Pain, Disease, And Sorrow's Weeping Train, And Death, Sad Refuge From The Storms Of Fate!

Any Fool May Write A Most Valuable Book By Chance, If He Will Only Tell Us What He Heard And Saw With Veracity.

Far From The Madding Crowd's Ignoble Strife Their Sober Wishes Never Learn'd To Stray; Along The Cool Sequester'd Vale Of Life They Kept The Noiseless Tenor Of Their Way.