All Chance, Direction, Which Thou Canst Not

Why Has Not Man A Microscopic Eye? For This Plain Reason, Man Is Not A Fly. Say What The Use, Were Finer Optics Giv'n, T' Inspect A Mite, Not Comprehend The Heav'n.

I Lose My Patience, And I Own It Too, When Works Are Censur'd, Not As Bad But New; While If Our Elders Break All Reason's Laws, These Fools Demand Not Pardon But Applause.

Then Marble, Soften'd Into Life, Grew Warm.

Others Import Yet Nobler Arts From France, Teach Kings To Fiddle, And Make Senates Dance.

And Die Of Nothing But A Rage To Live.