But granting nobler motives to the few,
And same or int'rest not the point in view;
Grant of the wretched's suff'rings we partake,
And praise, or pity ev'n for virtue's sake;
Yet that soft temper of the gen'rous mind,
That very breast, benevolent and kind,
That noble sense, which feels what others feel,
Which you, my Lord, who know it, best can tell;
Itself opprest, can least resistance show,
But pines, or sinks beneath its proper woe.
What tho' in Action brave, unaw'd by fear,
Resolv'd as , or as  severe;
In diff'rent views their trials, tempers scan,
Ev'n  can weep, and  is a man.
Superior faculties avail not here,
Wit points the shaft, and valour pours the tear.
The same nice nerve which vibrates to the brain
Its sense of pleasure, gives as quick its pain:
And all the diff'rence 'twixt the fool and wise,
In their sensations, and perceptions lies.