Intestine War No More Our Passions Wage,

Some To Conceit Alone Their Taste Confine, And Glittering Thoughts Struck Out At Ev'ry Line; Pleas'd With A Work Where Nothing's Just Or Fit; One Glaring Chaos And Wild Heap Of Wit.

Fix'd Like A Plant On His Peculiar Spot, To Draw Nutrition, Propagate And Rot.

Tis Use Alone That Sanctifies Expense And Splendor Borrow All Her Rays From Sense.

Hope Humbly Then; With Trembling Pinions Soar; Wait The Great Teacher, Death, And God Adore; What Future Bliss He Gives Not Thee To Know, But Gives That Hope To Be Thy Blessing Now.

So Perish All Who Do The Like Again.