The Life Of A Wit

Tis Thus The Mercury Of Man Is Fix'd, Strong Grows The Virtue With His Nature Mix'd.

But See, The Shepherds Shun The Noonday Heat, The Lowing Herds To Murmuring Brooks Retreat, To Closer Shades The Panting Flocks Remove; Ye Gods! And Is There No Relief For Love?

Heaven Gave To Woman The Peculiar Grace To Spin, To Weep, And Cully Human Race.

Now Warm In Love, Now With'ring In My Bloom Lost In A Convent's Solitary Gloom!

Fools Rush In Where Angels Fear To Tread.