A Perfect Judge Will Read Each Word

Heaven Gave To Woman The Peculiar Grace To Spin, To Weep, And Cully Human Race.

When Much Dispute Has Past, We Find Our Tenets Just The Same As Last.

See The Wild Waste Of All-devouring Years! How Rome Her Own Sad Sepulchre Appears, With Nodding Arches, Broken Temples Spread! The Very Tombs Now Vanish'd Like Their Dead!

And Empty Heads Console With Empty Sound.

For What I Have Publish'd, I Can Only Hope To Be Pardon'd; But For What I Have Burned, I Deserve To Be Prais'd.