It Is Sure The Hardest Science To

Lulled In The Countless Chambers Of The Brain, Our Thoughts Are Linked By Many A Hidden Chain; Awake But One, And In, What Myriads Rise!

Ask For What End The Heavenly Bodies Shine, Earth For Whose Use? Pride Answers, 'tis For Mine For Me Kind Nature Wakes Her Genial Power, Suckles Each Herb, And Spreads Out Every Flower.

All Nature Mourns, The Skies Relent In Showers; Hushed Are The Birds, And Closed The Drooping Flowers.

I Think A Good Deal May Be Said To Extenuate The Fault Of Bad Poets. What We Call A Genius, Is Hard To Be Distinguish'd By A Man Himself, From A Strong Inclination: And If His Genius Be Ever So Great, He Can Not At First Discover It Any Other Way, Than By Giving Way To That Prevalent Propensity Which Renders Him The More Liable To Be Mistaken.

Is There A Parson Much Bemused In Beer, A Maudlin Poetess, A Rhyming Peer, A Clerk Foredoom'd His Father's Soul To Cross, Who Pens A Stanza When He Should Engross?