All Looks Yellow To A Jaundiced Eye.

In Pride, In Reas'ning Pride, Our Error Lies; All Quit Their Sphere And Rush Into The Skies. Pride Still Is Aiming At The Bless'd Abodes, Men Would Be Angels, Angels Would Be Gods.

Trade It May Help, Society Extend, But Lures The Pirate, Ant Corrupts The Friend: It Raises Armies In A Nation's Aid, But Bribes A Senate, And The Land's Betray'd.

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!

A Brain Of Feathers, And A Heart Of Lead.

Chiefs Who No More In Bloody Fights Engage, But Wise Through Time, And Narrative With Age, In Summer-days Like Grasshoppers Rejoice - A Bloodless Race, That Send A Feeble Voice.