The Villain's Censure Is Extorted

I Find Myself Hoping A Total End Of All The Unhappy Divisions Of Mankind By Party-spirit, Which At Best Is But The Madness Of Many For The Gain Of A Few.

When To Mischief Mortals Bend Their Will, How Soon They Find It Instruments Of Ill.

Virtuous And Vicious Every Man Must Be, Few In The Extreme, But All In The Degree.

Who Pants For Glory, Finds But Short Repose; A Breath Revives Him, Or A Breath O'erthrows.

Tis True, 'tis Certain; Man, Though Dead, Retains Part Of Himself; The Immortal Mind Remains.