The Finest Minds, Like The Finest Metals,

Ah! Why, Ye Gods, Should Two And Two Make Four?

Awake, My St. John! Leave All Meaner Things To Low Ambition And The Pride Of Kings. Let Us (since Life Can Little More Supply Than Just To Look About Us, And To Die) Expatiate Free O'er All This Scene Of Man; A Mighty Maze! But Not Without A Plan.

Pleased To The Last, He Crops The Flowery Food, And Licks The Hand Just Raised To Shed His Blood.

Soft Is The Strain When Zephyr Gently Blows, And The Smooth Stream In Smoother Numbers Flows; But When Loud Surges Lash The Sounding Shore, The Hoarse Rough Verse Should Like The Torrent Roar. When Ajax Strives Some Rock's Vast Weight To Throw, The Line Too Labours, And The Words Move Slow: Not So When Swift Camilla Scours The Plain, Flies O'er Th' Unbending Corn, And Skims Along The Main.

Tis Thus The Mercury Of Man Is Fix'd, Strong Grows The Virtue With His Nature Mix'd.