That All Men Would Be

And Took For Truth The Test Of Ridicule.

Through The Sharp Air A Flaky Torrent Flies, Mocks The Slow Sight, And Hides The Gloomy Skies; The Fleecy Clouds Their Chilly Bosoms Bare, And Shed Their Substance On The Floating Air.

Against Her Foes Religion Well Defends Her Sacred Truths, But Often Fears Her Friends.

Oh, Rather Give Me Commentators Plain, Who With No Deep Researches Vex The Brain; Who From The Dark And Doubtful Love To Run, And Hold Their Glimmering Tapers To The Sun.

See Time Has Touched Me Gently In His Race, And Left No Odious Furrows In My Face.