Tis But A Part We

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

Some Judge Of Authors' Names, Not Works, And Then Nor Praise Nor Blame The Writings, But The Men.

For What I Have Publish'd, I Can Only Hope To Be Pardon'd; But For What I Have Burned, I Deserve To Be Prais'd.

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

The Zeal Of Fools Offends At Any Time.