Tender-handed stroke a nettle

Courage is poorly housed that dwells in numbers; the lion never counts the herd that are about him, nor weighs how many flocks he has to scatter.

Joys, which we do not know, we do not wish.

Yours is the guilt of all, who, judging wrong, Mistake tuned nonsense for the poet's song! Provoking dulness!—what a soul has he Who fancies rhyme, and measure, poetry!— He thinks, profanely, that this generous art Stops at the ear—with …

O'er Nature's laws, God cast the veil of night, Out blaz'd a Newton's soul — and all was light.

You talk no more of that gay nation now, Where men adore their wives, and woman's power Draws reverence from a polished people's softness, Their husbands' equals, and their lovers' queens; Free without scandal; wise without restraint; …

I see too plainly custom forms us all; Our thoughts, our morals, our most fixed belief, Are consequences of our place of birth