html.skin-theme-clientpref-night @media(prefers-color-scheme:dark){html.skin-theme-clientpref-os }Not the brave Macedonian Youth alone,
But base Caligula, when on the Throne,
Boundless in Pow'r, would make himself a God;
As if the World depended on his Nod.
The Syrian King to Beasts was headlong thrown,
E're to himself he could be mortal known.
The meanest Wretch, if Heav'n should give him Line,
Would never stop, till he were thought Divine.
All might within discern the Serpents Pride,
If from our selves our selves did nothing hide.
Let the proud Peacock his gay Feathers spread,
And wooe the Female to his painted Bed.
Let Winds and Seas together rage and swell,
This Nature teaches, and becomes 'em well.
Pride was not made for Man: a conscious sense
Of Guilt, and Folly, and their consequence
Destroys the claim; and to beholders tells,
Here nothing, but the shape of manhood, dwells.