Men Would Be Angels, Angels Would Be

Ah! What Avails It Me The Flocks To Keep, Who Lost My Heart While I Preserv'd My Sheep.

Consult The Genius Of The Place, That Paints As You Plant, And As You Work.

Praise Undeserved, Is Satire In Disguise.

In The Nice Bee, What Sense So Subtly True From Pois'nous Herbs Extracts The Healing Dew?

Nor In The Critic Let The Man Be Lost.