She's fair white-paper, an unsullied sheet;
On which the happy man, whom Fate ordains,
May write his name, and take her for his pains.
One instance more, and only one I'll bring;
'Tis the great man who scorns a little thing,
Whose thoughts, whose deeds, whose maxims are his own,
Formed on the feelings of his heart alone:
True, genuine royal-paper is his breast,
Of all the kinds most precious, purest, best.