His Wit Invites You By His Looks

Blest Be The Art That Can Immortalize.

Defend Me, Therefore, Common Sense, Say From Reveries So Airy, From The Toil Of Dropping Buckets Into Empty Wells, And Growing Old In Drawing Nothing Up.

Poor England! Thou Art A Devoted Deer, Beset With Every Ill But That Of Fear. The Nations Hunt; All Mock Thee For A Prey; They Swarm Around Thee, And Thou Stand'st At Bay.

Ceremony Leads Her Bigots Forth, Prepared To Fight For Shadows Of No Worth. While Truths, On Which Eternal Things Depend, Can Hardly Find A Single Friend.

The Earth Was Made So Various, That The Mind Of Desultory Man, Studious Of Change, And Pleased With Novelty, Might Be Indulged.