Estimate of Truth

He truth alone can rightly prize Who is himself maturely wise. To sottish drunkards those appear Like sots, who keep their senses clear; And those of coolest soundest brain, Are mark'd by madmen for insane. In superstition's sickly dream, Foul stains pollute the clearest stream; The modest voice of better sense, To snarling fools gives harsh offence: As much enrag'd the wild boar rears His bristles when he music hears. ' Mongst Gods a Goddess Genius sits, A silent slave 'mongst meaner wits.