No Creature Smarts So Little As A

What Woeful Stuff This Madrigal Would Be, In Some Starved Hackney Sonneteer, Or Me! But Let A Lord Once Own The Happy Lines, How The Wit Brightens! How The Style Refines!

Love, Hope, And Joy, Fair Pleasure's Smiling Train, Hate, Fear, And Grief, The Family Of Pain, These Mix'd With Art, And To Due Bounds Confin'd Make And Maintain The Balance Of The Mind.

And Little Eagles Wave Their Wings In Gold.

Ask You What Provocation I Have Had? The Strong Antipathy Of Good To Bad.

Chaos Of Thought And Passion, All Confus'd.