Oft In Dreams Invention We Bestow To

The Young Disease, That Must Subdue At Length, Grows With His Growth, And Strengthens With His Strength.

Placed On This Isthmus Of A Middle State.

Reason's Whole Pleasure, All The Joys Of Sense, Lie In Three Words,-health, Peace, And Competence.

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

Is It, In Heav'n, A Crime To Love Too Well? To Bear Too Tender Or Too Firm A Heart, To Act A Lover's Or A Roman's Part? Is There No Bright Reversion In The Sky For Those Who Greatly Think, Or Bravely Die?