The Right Divine Of Kings To Govern

Who Pants For Glory, Finds But Short Repose; A Breath Revives Him, Or A Breath O'erthrows.

Such Labour'd Nothings, In So Strange A Style, Amaze Th' Unlearn'd And Make The Learned Smile.

The Spider's Touch, How Exquisitely Fine! Feels At Each Thread, And Lives Along The Line.

Be Thou The First True Merit To Befriend, His Praise Is Lost Who Stays Till All Commend.

If Faith Itself Has Different Dresses Worn, What Wonder Modes In Wit Should Take Their Turn?