Praise Undeserved, Is Satire In

Of Manners Gentle, Of Affections Mild; In Wit A Man; Simplicity, A Child.

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

What Conscience Dictates To Be Done, Or Warns Me Not To Do; This Teach Me More Than Hell To Shun, That More Than Heav'n Pursue.

By Music Minds An Equal Temper Know, Nor Swell Too High, Nor Sink Too Low. . . . . Warriors She Fires With Animated Sounds. Pours Balm Into The Bleeding Lover's Wounds.

Cavil You May, But Never Criticise.