Society and the World

Do all the good you can, By all the means you can, In all the ways you can, In all the places you can, At all the times you can, To all the people you can, As long as ever you can.

Religion blushing veils her sacred fires, And unawares Morality expires. Nor public flame, nor private, dares to shine; Nor human spark is left, nor glimpse divine! Lo! thy dread empire Chaos! is restor’d: Light dies before thy uncreating word; Thy hand, great Anarch! lets the curtain fall, And universal darkness buries all.

Religion blushing veils her sacred fires, And unawares Morality expires. Nor public flame, nor private, dares to shine; Nor human spark is left, nor glimpse divine! Lo! thy dread empire Chaos! is restor’d: Light dies before thy uncreating word; Thy hand, great Anarch! lets the curtain fall, And universal darkness buries all.

The Right Divine of Kings to govern wrong.

Stuff the head With all such reading as was never read: For thee explain a thing till all men doubt it, And write about it, Goddess, and about it.

And proud his mistress’ orders to perform, Rides in the whirlwind and directs the storm.

Peel’d, patch’d, and piebald, linsey-woolsey brothers, Grave mummers! sleeveless some, and shirtless others. That once was Britain.

Poetic Justice, with her lifted scale, Where, in nice balance, truth with gold she weighs, And solid pudding against empty praise.

Nature and Nature’s laws lay hid in night: God said, Let Newton be! and all was light.

Get place and wealth, if possible with grace; If not, by any means get wealth and place.

Get place and wealth, if possible with grace; If not, by any means get wealth and place.

The people’s voice is odd, It is, and it is not, the voice of God.

The people’s voice is odd, It is, and it is not, the voice of God.

A patriot is a fool in ev’ry age.

A patriot is a fool in ev’ry age.

Give me again my hollow tree, A crust of bread, and liberty.

Unlearn’d, he knew no schoolman’s subtle art, No language, but the language of the heart.

That true self-love and social are the same.

That true self-love and social are the same.

A wit’s a feather, and a chief a rod; An honest man’s the noblest work of God.

A wit’s a feather, and a chief a rod; An honest man’s the noblest work of God.

Worth makes the man, and want of it the fellow; The rest is all but leather or prunella.

Vice is a monster of so frightful mien, As to be hated needs but to be seen; Yet seen too oft, familiar with her face, We first endure, then pity, then embrace.

All nature is but art, unknown to thee; All chance, direction which thou canst not see; All discord, harmony not understood; All partial evil, universal good; And, spite of pride, in erring reason’s spite, One truth is clear, Whatever is, is right.