No More Was Seen The Human Form

Those Oft Are Stratagems Which Errors Seem Nor Is It Homer Nods, But We That Dream.

Whether The Darken'd Room To Muse Invite, Or Whiten'd Wall Provoke The Skew'r To Write; In Durance, Exile, Bedlam, Or The Mint, Like Lee Or Budgel I Will Rhyme And Print.

Men Would Be Angels, Angels Would Be Gods.

Thou Wert My Guide, Philosopher, And Friend.

Some Praise At Morning What They Blame At Night, But Always Think The Last Opinion Right.