Honor And Shame From No

When To Mischief Mortals Bend Their Will, How Soon They Find It Instruments Of Ill.

Trace Science, Then, With Modesty Thy Guide, First Strip Off All Her Equipage Of Pride, Deduct What Is But Vanity Or Dress, Or Learning's Luxury Or Idleness, Or Tricks, To Show The Stretch Of The Human Brain Mere Curious Pleasure Or Ingenious Pain.

Of Manners Gentle, Of Affections Mild; In Wit A Man; Simplicity, A Child.

Is That A Birthday? 'tis, Alas! Too Clear; 'tis But The Funeral Of The Former Year.

Behold The Groves That Shine With Silver Frost, Their Beauty Withered, And Their Verdure Lost!