The Light Of Heaven Restore; Give Me

And You, My Critics! In The Chequer'd Shade, Admire New Light Thro' Holes Yourselves Have Made.

Count All Th' Advantage Prosperous Vice Attains, 'tis But What Virtue Flies From And Disdains: And Grant The Bad What Happiness They Would, One They Must Want--which Is, To Pass For Good.

Our Proper Bliss Depends On What We Blame.

But If You'll Prosper, Mark What I Advise, Whom Age, And Long Experience Render Wise.

Soft Is The Strain When Zephyr Gently Blows.