A Self-made Man? Yes, And

And, Of All Lies (be That One Poet's Boast) / The Lie That Flatters I Abhor The Most.

It Chills My Blood To Hear The Blest Supreme Rudely Appealed To On Each Trifling Theme.

When From Soft Love Proceeds The Deep Distress, Ah! Why Forbid The Willing Tears To Flow?

Unless A Love Of Virtue Light The Flame, Satire Is, More Than Those He Brands, To Blame; He Hides Behind A Magisterial Air He Own Offences, And Strips Others' Bare.

Some Men Make Gain A Fountain, Whence Proceeds A Stream Of Liberal And Heroic Deeds; The Swell Of Pity, Not To Be Confined Within The Scanty Limits Of The Mind.