Colton.    

	For virtue’s self may too much zeal be had;
	The worst of madmen is a saint run mad.

Pope.    

	But jest apart what virtue canst thou trace
	In that broad brim that hides thy sober face?
	Does that long-skirted drab, that over-nice
	And formal clothing, prove a scorn of vice?
	Then for thine accent—what in sound can be
	So void of grace as dull monotony?

Crabbe.    

	In the wicked there’s no vice,
	Of which the saints have not a spice,
	And yet that thing that’s pious in
	The one, in the other is a sin.
	Is it not ridiculous, and nonsense,
	A saint should be a slave to conscience?

Butler.