Look round the habitable world, how few Know their own good, or, knowing it, pursue! - John Dryden

Dim as the borrowed beams of moon and stars
To lonely, weary, wandering travellers
Is reason to the soul; and as on high
Those rolling fires discover but the sky
Not light us here, so reason's glimmering ray
Was lent, not to assure our doubtful way,
But guide us upward to a better day:
And as those nightly tapers disappear
When day's bright lord ascends our hemisphere,
So pale grows reason at religion's sight, So dies, and so dissolves in supernatural light.

Thus in a pageant-show a plot is made;
And peace itself is war in masquerade.

Timotheus, to his breathing flute, And sounding lyre,
Could swell the soul to rage, or kindle soft desire.