Judges And Senates Have Been

Slave To No Sect, Who Takes No Private Road, But Looks Through Nature Up To Nature's God.

Our Judgments, Like Our Watches, None Go Just Alike, Yet Each Believes His Own

Nay, Fly To Altars; There They'll Talk You Dead; For Fools Rush In Where Angels Fear To Tread.

In Adamantine Chains Shall Death Be Bound, And Hell's Grim Tyrant Feel Th' Eternal Wound.

Content If Hence Th' Unlearn'd Their Wants May View, The Learn'd Reflect On What Before They Knew.