And, dying, bless the hand that gave the blow.

But when to sin our biased nature leans, The careful Devil is still at hand with means; And providently pimps for ill desires.

To draw true beauty shows a master's hand.

Thou spring'st a leak already in thy crown, A flaw is in thy ill-bak'd vessel found; 'Tis hollow, and returns a jarring sound, Yet thy moist clay is pliant to command, Unwrought, and easy to the potter's hand: Now take the mould; now bend thy mind to feel The first sharp motions of the forming wheel.