Conceit Is To Nature What

O Peace! How Many Wars Were Waged In Thy Name.

Heaven Forming Each On Other To Depend, A Master, Or A Servant, Or A Friend, Bids Each On Other For Assistance Call, Till One Man's Weakness Grows The Strength Of All.

Say, Will The Falcon, Stooping From Above, Smit With Her Varying Plumage, Spare The Dove? Admires The Jay The Insect's Gilded Wings? Or Hears The Hawk When Philomela Sings?

Ye Gods, Annihilate But Space And Time, And Make Two Lovers Happy.

Know Then This Truth, Enough For Man To Know Virtue Alone Is Happiness Below.