Satire's My Weapon, But I'm Too Discreet

Who Finds Not Providence All Good And Wise, Alike In What It Gives, And What Denies.

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

No Creature Smarts So Little As A Fool.

Here Hills And Vales, The Woodland And The Plain Here Earth And Water Seem To Strive Again, Not Chaos-like Together Crushed And Bruised, But, As The World, Harmoniously Confused: Where Order In Variety We See, And Where, Though All Things Differ, All Agree.

On Wings Of Wind Came Flying All Abroad.