Such Labour'd Nothings, In So Strange A

The Difference Is Too Nice - Where Ends The Virtue Or Begins The Vice.

Yet Graceful Ease, And Sweetness Void Of Pride, Might Hide Her Faults, If Belles Had Faults To Hide: If To Her Share Some Female Errors Fall, Look On Her Face, And You'll Forget 'em All.

Nor Fame I Slight, Nor Her Favors Call.

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

An Honest Man's The Noblest Work Of God.