A Fly, A Grape-stone, Or

Know Then, Unnumber'd Spirits Round Thee Fly, The Light Militia Of The Lower Sky.

But Honest Instinct Comes A Volunteer; Sure Never To O'er-shoot, But Just To Hit, While Still Too Wide Or Short In Human Wit.

Is It, In Heav'n, A Crime To Love Too Well?

Content If Hence Th' Unlearn'd Their Wants May View, The Learn'd Reflect On What Before They Knew.

Our Judgments, Like Our Watches, None Go Just Alike, Yet Each Believes His Own