To the Hon. Mrs Percival, with Hutcheson's Treatise on Beauty and Order
Th' internal Senses painted here we see:
They're born in others, but they live in thee.
O were our Author with thy Converse blest,
Could he behold the Virtues of thy Breast;
His needless Labours with Contempt he'd view;
And bid the World not read — but copy you!
They're born in others, but they live in thee.
O were our Author with thy Converse blest,
Could he behold the Virtues of thy Breast;
His needless Labours with Contempt he'd view;
And bid the World not read — but copy you!
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