The Muse But Serv'd To

A Gen'rous Heart Repairs A Sland'rous Tongue.

Ye Gods, Annihilate But Space And Time, And Make Two Lovers Happy.

Why Has Not Man A Microscopic Eye? For This Plain Reason, Man Is Not A Fly. Say What The Use, Were Finer Optics Giv'n, T' Inspect A Mite, Not Comprehend The Heav'n.

Who Breaks A Butterfly On A Wheel?

In Lazy Apathy Let Stoics Boast, Their Virtue Fixed, 'tis Fixed As In A Frost.