Shame On The Body For Breaking Down

The Good We Have Enjoyed From Heaven's Free Will, And Shall We Murmur To Endure The Ill?

So Softly Death Succeeded Life In Her, She Did But Dream Of Heaven, And She Was There.

Criticism Is Now Become Mere Hangman's Work, And Meddles Only With The Faults Of Authors ; Nay, The Critic Is Disgusted Less With Their Absurdities Than Excellence ; And You Cannot Displease Him More Than In Leaving Him Little Room For His Malice.

And After Hearing What Our Church Can Say, If Still Our Reason Runs Another Way, That Private Reason 'tis More Just To Curb, Than By Disputes The Public Peace Disturb; For Points Obscure Are Of Small Use To Learn, But Common Quiet Is Mankind's Concern.

They First Condemn That First Advised The Ill.