What Riches Give Us Let Us Then

The Grave Unites; Where E'en The Great Find Rest, And Blended Lie Th' Oppressor And Th' Oppressed!

Light Quirks Of Music, Broken And Uneven,make The Soul Dance Upon A Jig To Heav'n.

All Nature Is But Art, Unknown To Thee All Chance, Direction, Which Thou Canst Not See; All Discord, Harmony Not Understood; All Partial Evil, Universal Good.

Satire's My Weapon, But I'm Too Discreet To Run Amuck, And Tilt At All I Meet.

Music Resembles Poetry, In Each Are Nameless Graces Which No Methods Teach, And Which A Master Hand Alone Can Reach.