To Happy Convents, Bosomed Deep In Vines,

Genius Creates, And Taste Preserves.

Good Sense, Which Only Is The Gift Of Heaven, And Though No Science, Fairly Worth The Seven.

Hills Peep O'er Hills, And Alps On Alps Arise.

A Pear-tree Planted Nigh: 'twas Charg'd With Fruit That Made A Goodly Show, And Hung With Dangling Pears Was Every Bough.

Every Professional Was Once An Amateur.