I Am Out Of Humanity's Reach.

And Hast Thou Sworn On Every Slight Pretence, Till Perjuries Are Common As Bad Pence, While Thousands, Careless Of The Damning Sin, Kiss The Book's Outside, Who Ne'er Look'd Within?

Th' Embroid'ry Of Poetic Dreams.

Without One Friend, Above All Foes, Britannia Gives The World Repose.

A Story, In Which Native Humour Reigns, Is Often Useful, Always Entertains; A Graver Fact, Enlisted On Your Side, May Furnish Illustration, Well Applied; But Sedentary Weavers Of Long Tales Give Me The Fidgets, And My Patience Fails.

Where Men Of Judgment Creep And Feel Their Way, The Positive Pronounce Without Dismay.