The Vulgar Boil, The Learned Roast, An

Some Positive Persisting Fops We Know, Who, If Once Wrong, Will Needs Be Always So; But You With Pleasure Own Your Errors Past, And Make Each Day A Critique On The Last.

Know Then, Unnumber'd Spirits Round Thee Fly, The Light Militia Of The Lower Sky.

Music Resembles Poetry, In Each Are Nameless Graces Which No Methods Teach, And Which A Master Hand Alone Can Reach.

O Love! For Sylvia Let Me Gain The Prize, And Make My Tongue Victorious As Her Eyes.

Oh, Blindness To The Future! Kindly Giv'n, That Each May Fill The Circle Mark'd By Heaven.