Nor waste their sweetness in the desert air.
No two on earth in all things can agree; All have some darling singularity; Women and men, as well as girls and boys, In gewgaws take delight, and sigh for toys, Your sceptres and your crowns, and such like things, Are but a better kind of toys for kings. In things indifferent reason bids us choose, Whether the whim's a monkey or a muse.
Enough of self, that darling luscious theme, O'er which philosophers in raptures dream; Of which with seeming disregard they write Then prizing most when most they seem to slight.
The oak, when living, monarch of the wood; The English oak, which, dead, commands the flood.
Constant attention wears the active mind, Blots out our pow'rs, and leaves a blank behind.
Satire, whilst envy and ill-humor sway The mind of man, must always make her way; Nor to a bosom, with discretion fraught, Is all her malice worth a single thought. The wise have not the will, nor fools the power, To stop her headstrong course; within the hour Left to herself, she dies; opposing strife Gives her fresh vigor, and prolongs her life.
Drawn by conceit from reason's plan How vain is that poor creature man; How pleas'd in ev'ry paltry elf To grate about that thing himself.
Even in a hero's heart Discretion is the better part.
If honor calls, where'er she points the way The sons of honor follow, and obey.
Whom drink made wits, though nature made them fools.
Ourselves are to ourselves the cause of ill.
Within the brain's most secret cells, A certain lord chief justice dwells, Of sov'reign power, whom one and all, With common voice we reason call.
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