As The Twig Is Bent, So Grows

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

All Are But Parts Of One Stupendous Whole, Whose Body Nature Is, And God The Soul.

Oh, Sons Of Earth! Attempt Ye Still To Rise. By Mountains Pil'd On Mountains To The Skies? Heav'n Still With Laughter The Vain Toil Surveys, And Buries Madmen In The Heaps They Raise.

Men, Some To Business, Some To Pleasure Take; But Every Woman Is At Heart A Rake.

Statesman, Yet Friend To Truth! Of Soul Sincere, In Action Faithful, And In Honour Clear; Who Broke No Promise, Serv'd No Private End, Who Gain'd No Title, And Who Lost No Friend.