Ourselves Are To Ourselves The Cause Of

Greatly His Foes He Dreads, But More His Friends; He Hurts Me Most Who Lavishly Commends.

Fool Beckons Fool, And Dunce Awakens Dunce.

In The First Seat, In Robe Of Various Dyes, A Noble Wildness Flashing From His Eyes, Sat Shakespeare: In One Hand A Wand He Bore, For Mighty Wonders Fam'd In Days Of Yore: The Other Held A Globe, Which To His Will Obedient Turn'd, And Own'd The Master's Skill: Things Of The Noblest Kind His Genius Drew, And Look'd Through Nature At A Single View: A Loose He Gave To His Unbounded Soul, And Taught New Lands To Rise, New Seas To Roll; Call'd Into Being Scenes Unknown Before, And Passing Nature's Bounds, Was Something More.

Be England What She Will, With All Her Faults She Is My Country Still.

Nor Waste Their Sweetness In The Desert Air.