To Swear Is Neither Brave, Polite, Nor

All Nature Is But Art Unknown To Thee.

Of Manners Gentle, Of Affections Mild; In Wit A Man; Simplicity, A Child.

Still When The Lust Of Tyrant Power Succeeds, Some Athens Perishes, Or Some Tully Bleeds.

At Length Corruption, Like A General Flood (so Long By Watchful Ministers Withstood), Shall Deluge All; And Avarice, Creeping On, Spread Like A Low-born Mist, And Blot The Sun.

Satire Or Sense, Alas! Can Sporus Feel? Who Breaks A Butterfly Upon A Wheel?