The end must justify the means

That if weak women went astray, Their stars were more in fault than they.

Soft peace she brings; wherever she arrives She builds our quiet as she forms our lives; Lays the rough paths of peevish Nature even, And opens in each heart a little heaven.

Our hopes, like towering falcons, aim At objects in an airy height; The little pleasure of the game Is from afar to view the flight.

From ignorance our comfort flows. The only wretched are the wise.

Forbear to mention what thou canst not praise.

Be to her virtues very kind; Be to her faults a little blind; Let all her ways be unconfined; And clap your padlock — on her mind!