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,