Our Proper Bliss Depends On What We

Some To Conceit Alone Their Taste Confine, And Glittering Thoughts Struck Out At Ev'ry Line; Pleas'd With A Work Where Nothing's Just Or Fit; One Glaring Chaos And Wild Heap Of Wit.

Unblemish'd Let Me Live Or Die Unknown; Oh, Grant An Honest Fame, Or Grant Me None!

A Brave Man Struggling In The Storms Of Fate, And Greatly Falling With A Falling State.

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

But Satan Now Is Wiser Than Of Yore, And Tempts By Making Rich, Not Making Poor.