A Youth Of Frolic, An Old Age

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.

I Find Myself Hoping A Total End Of All The Unhappy Divisions Of Mankind By Party-spirit, Which At Best Is But The Madness Of Many For The Gain Of A Few.

So Vast Is Art, So Narrow Human Wit.

Satire Or Sense, Alas! Can Sporus Feel? Who Breaks A Butterfly Upon A Wheel?

Curse On All Laws But Those Which Love Has Made.