He who hesitates is lost. - Joseph Addison

Is there not some chosen curse, Some hidden thunder in the stores of heaven, Red with uncommon wrath, to blast the man Who owes his greatness to his country's ruin?

When hosts of foes with foes engage, And round th' anointed hero rage, The cleaving fauchion I misguide, And turn the feather'd shaft aside.

Fain would I Raphael's godlike art rehearse, And show th' immortal labours in my verse, Where from themingled strength of shade and light A new creation rises to my sight, Such heavenly figures from his pencil flow, So warm with life his blended colours glow. From theme to theme with secret pleasure tost, Amidst the soft variety I 'm lost: Here pleasing airs my ravish'd soul confound With circling notes and labyrinths of sound; Here domes and temples rise in distant views, And opening palaces invite my Muse.