Adieu, unsocial excellence! at last Thy foes are vanquish'd, and thy fears are past: Want, the grim recompense of truth like thine, Shall now no longer dim thy destined shrine. The impatient envy, the disdainful air, The front malignant, and the captious stare, The furious petulance, the jealous start, The mist of frailties that obscured thy heart-- Veil'd in thy grave shall unremember'd lie; For these were parts of Dennis born to die. But there's a nobler deity behind; His reason dies not, and has friends to find:

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