Some judge of authors' names, not works, and then nor praise nor blame the writings, but the men.

Be not the first by whom the new are tried, Nor yet the last to lay the old aside.

Nature to all things fixed the limits fit
And wisely curbed proud man's pretending wit.
As on the land while here the ocean gains.
In other parts it leaves wide sandy plains
Thus in the soul while memory prevails,
The solid power of understanding fails
Where beams of warm imagination play,
The memory's soft figures melt away
One science only will one genius fit,
So vast is art, so narrow human wit
Not only bounded to peculiar arts,
But oft in those confined to single parts
Like kings, we lose the conquests gained before,
By vain ambition still to make them more
Each might his several province well command,
Would all but stoop to what they understand.

Music resembles poetry, in each
Are nameless graces which no methods teach,
And which a master hand alone can reach.

Order is heaven's first law.

The world forgetting, by the world forgot.