Conceit Is To Nature What Paint Is

For Thee I Dim These Eye And Stuff This Head With All Such Reading As Was Never Read.

Sometimes Virtue Starves While Vice Is Fed.

Tis From High Life High Characters Are Drawn; A Saint In Crape Is Twice A Saint In Lawn: A Judge Is Just, A Chanc'llor Juster Still; A Gownman Learn'd; A Bishop What You Will; Wise If A Minister; But If A King, More Wise, More Learn'd, More Just, More Ev'rything.

O Happiness! Our Being's End And Aim! Good, Pleasure, Ease, Content! Whate'er Thy Name: That Something Still Which Prompts The Eternal Sigh, For Which We Bear To Live, Or Dare To Die.

Virtuous And Vicious Every Man Must Be, Few In The Extreme, But All In The Degree.