Of Darkness Visible So Much Be Lent,

To Happy Convents, Bosomed Deep In Vines, Where Slumber Abbots, Purple As Their Wines.

To Wake The Soul By Tender Strokes Of Art, To Raise The Genius, And To Mend The Heart; To Make Mankind, In Conscious Virtue Bold, Live O'er Each Seene, And Be What They Behold: For This The Tragic Muse First Trod The Stage.

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

Education Forms The Common Mind.

Ambition First Sprung From Your Blest Abodes: The Glorious Fault Of Angels And Of Gods.