The Proper Study Of Mankind Is Man.

But Thinks, Admitted To That Equal Sky, His Faithful Dog Shall Bear Him Company.

Behold The Child, By Nature's Kindly Law Pleased With A Rattle, Tickled With A Straw.

With Sharpen'd Sight Pale Antiquaries Pore, Th' Inscription Value, But The Rust Adore. This The Blue Varnish, That The Green Endears; The Sacred Rust Of Twice Ten Hundred Years.

Love Finds An Altar For Forbidden Fires.

Whoever Thinks A Faultless Piece To See, Thinks What Ne'er Was, Nor Is, Nor E'er Shall Be, In Every Work Regard The Writer's End, Since None Can Compass More Than They Intend; And If The Means Be Just, The Conduct True, Applause, In Spite Of Trivial Faults, Is Due.