Byron.
Skeptic, whoe’er thou art, tell, if thou knowest,
Why every nation, every clime, though all
In laws, in rites, in manners disagree,
With one consent expect another world
Where wickedness shall weep? Why in each breast
Is placed a friendly monitor, that prompts,
Informs, directs, encourages, forbids?
Tell, why on unknown evil grief attends,