Sometimes Virtue Starves While Vice Is Fed.

To What Base Ends, And By What Abject Ways, Are Mortals Urg'd Through Sacred Lust Of Praise!

So Vast Is Art, So Narrow Human Wit.

How Shall I Lose The Sin, Yet Keep The Sense, And Love The Offender, Yet Detest The Offence?

But See, The Shepherds Shun The Noonday Heat, The Lowing Herds To Murmuring Brooks Retreat, To Closer Shades The Panting Flocks Remove; Ye Gods! And Is There No Relief For Love?

The Physician, By The Study And Inspection Of Urine And Ordure, Approves Himself In The Science; And In Like Sort Should Our Author Accustom And Exercise His Imagination Upon The Dregs Of Nature.