Those Who Think Must Govern Those That

Some Fleeting Good, That Mocks Me With The View.

I Fancy The Character Of A Poet Is In Every Country The Same,--fond Of Enjoying The Present, Careless Of The Future; His Conversation That Of A Man Of Sense, His Actions Those Of A Fool.

For Praise Too Dearly Lov'd, Or Warmly Sought, Enfeebles All Internal Strength Of Thought; And The Weak Soul Within Itself Unblest, Leans For All Pleasure On Another's Breast.

I Can't Say Whether We Had More Wit Among Us Now Than Usual, But I Am Certain We Had More Laughing, Which Answered The End As Well.

Truth From His Lips Prevailed With Double Sway, And Fools, Who Came To Scoff, Remained To Pray.