The Villain's Censure Is Extorted Praise.

I Begin Where Most People End, With A Full Conviction Of The Emptiness Of All Sorts Of Ambition, And The Unsatisfactory Nature Of All Human Pleasures.

Nor Public Flame, Nor Private, Dares To Shine; Nor Human Spark Is Left, Nor Glimpse Divine! Lo! Thy Dread Empire, Chaos! Is Restored; Light Dies Before Thy Uncreating Word: Thy Hand, Great Anarch! Lets The Curtain Fall; And Universal Darkness Buries All.

Interspersed In Lawn And Opening Glades, Thin Trees Arise That Shun Each Others' Shades.

Content If Hence Th' Unlearn'd Their Wants May View, The Learn'd Reflect On What Before They Knew.

A Wit With Dunces, And A Dunce With Wits.