If such is man’s allotment, what is heaven?
Or own the soul immortal, or blaspheme.
Or own the soul immortal, or invert 290
All order. Go, mock-majesty! go, man!
And bow to thy superiors of the stall;
Through every scene of sense superior far:
They graze the turf untill’d; they drink the stream
Unbrew’d, and ever full, and unembitter’d
With doubts, fears, fruitless hopes, regrets, despairs;
Mankind’s peculiar! reason’s precious dower!