Condition, Circumstance, Is Not The Thing; Bliss

Not Grace, Or Zeal, Love Only Was My Call, And If I Lose Thy Love, I Lose My All.

Modest Plainness Sets Off Sprightly Wit, For Works May Have More With Than Does 'em Good, As Bodies Perish Through Excess Of Blood.

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.

A Pear-tree Planted Nigh: 'twas Charg'd With Fruit That Made A Goodly Show, And Hung With Dangling Pears Was Every Bough.

Of Darkness Visible So Much Be Lent, As Half To Show, Half Veil, The Deep Intent.