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Let Sinful Bachelors Their Woes Deplore; Full Well They Merit All They Feel, And More: Unaw By Precepts, Human Or Divine, Like Birds And Beasts, Promiscuously They Join.

-Alexander Pope

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Let Sinful Bachelors Their

Alexander Pope

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Let Sinful Bachelors Their Woes Deplore; Full Well They Merit All They Feel, And More: Unaw By Precepts, Human Or Divine, Like Birds And Beasts, Promiscuously They Join.

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Fine Sense And Exalted Sense Are Not Half So Useful As Common Sense.

Chaste To Her Husband, Frank To All Beside, A Teeming Mistress, But A Barren Bride.

Lo, What Huge Heaps Of Littleness Around!

Of Little Use, The Man You May Suppose, Who Says In Verse What Others Say In Prose; Yet Let Me Show A Poet's Of Some Weight, And (though No Soldier) Useful To The State, What Will A Child Learn Sooner Than A Song? What Better Teach A Foreigner The Tongue? What's Long Or Short, Each Accent Where To Place And Speak In Public With Some Sort Of Grace?

An Excuse Is Worse And More Terrible Than A Lie; For An Excuse Is A Lie Guarded.

Awake, My St. John! Leave All Meaner Things To Low Ambition And The Pride Of Kings. Let Us (since Life Can Little More Supply Than Just To Look About Us, And To Die) Expatiate Free O'er All This Scene Of Man; A Mighty Maze! But Not Without A Plan.

A Wise Physician, Skill'd Our Wounds To Heal, Is More Than Armies To The Public Weal.

But Just Disease To Luxury Succeeds, And Ev'ry Death Its Own Avenger Breeds.

Disease And Death

In Pride, In Reas'ning Pride, Our Error Lies; All Quit Their Sphere And Rush Into The Skies. Pride Still Is Aiming At The Bless'd Abodes, Men Would Be Angels, Angels Would Be Gods.

Where Grows?--where Grows It Not? If Vain Our Toil, We Ought To Blame The Culture, Not The Soil.

It Is Observable That The Ladies Frequent Tragedies More Than Comedies; The Reason May Be, That In Tragedy Their Sex Is Deified And Adored, In Comedy Exposed And Ridiculed.

For Forms Of Government, Let Fools Contest; Whate'er Is Best Administered, Is Best.

Only Music Has The Ability To Take You To The Edge Of Reality And Allow You To Peek In For A Moment.

To Him No High, No Low, No Great, No Small; He Fills, He Bounds, Connects And Equals All!

Court-virtues Bear, Like Gems, The Highest Rate, Born Where Heav'n Influence Scarce Can Penetrate. In Life's Low Vale, The Soil The Virtues Like, They Please As Beauties, Here As Wonders Strike.

Still When The Lust Of Tyrant Power Succeeds, Some Athens Perishes, Or Some Tully Bleeds.

She Went From Opera, Park, Assembly, Play, To Morning Walks, And Prayers Three Hours A Day. To Part Her Time 'twixt Reading And Bohea, To Muse, And Spill Her Solitary Tea, Or O'er Cold Coffee Trifle With The Spoon, Count The Slow Clock, And Dine Exact At Noon.

So Modern 'pothecaries, Taught The Art By Doctor's Bills To Play The Doctor's Part, Bold In The Practice Of Mistaken Rules, Prescribe, Apply, And Call Their Masters Fools.

Thou Wert My Guide, Philosopher, And Friend.

The Dances Ended, All The Fairy Train For Pinks And Daisies Search'd The Flow'ry Plain.

O Let Us Still The Secret Joy Partake, To Follow Virtue Even For Virtue's Sake.

Tis True, 'tis Certain; Man, Though Dead, Retains Part Of Himself; The Immortal Mind Remains.

Slave To No Sect, Who Takes No Private Road, But Looks Through Nature Up To Nature's God.

And Soften'd Sounds Along The Waters Die: Smooth Flow The Waves, The Zephyrs Gently Play.

Pleasures Are Ever In Our Hands Or Eyes; And When In Act They Cease, In Prospect Rise.

New, Distant Scenes Of Endless Science Rise: So Pleas'd At First, The Towring Alps We Try.

Like Cato, Give His Little Senate Laws, And Sit Attentive To His Own Applause.

She Who Ne'er Answers Till A Husband Cools, Or, If She Rules Him, Never Shows She Rules; Charms By Accepting, By Submitting, Sways, Yet Has Her Humor Most, When She Obeys.

Learn From The Beasts The Physic Of The Field.

Taste, That Eternal Wanderer, Which Flies From Head To Ears, And Now From Ears To Eyes.

No Woman Ever Hates A Man For Being In Love With Her, But Many A Woman Hate A Man For Being A Friend To Her.

Wine Lets No Lover Unrewarded Go.

In A Sadly Pleasing Strain, Let The Warbling Lute Complain.

From The Moment One Sets Up For An Author, One Must Be Treated As Ceremoniously, That Is As Unfaithfully, "as A King's Favorite Or A King.

Beauty That Shocks You, Parts That None Will Trust, Wit That Can Creep, And Pride That Licks The Dust.

What Can Ennoble Sots, Or Slaves, Or Cowards? Alas! Not All The Blood, Of All The Howards.

The Most Positive Men Are The Most Credulous, Since They Most Believe Themselves, And Advise Most With Their Falsest Flatterer And Worst Enemy--their Own Self-love.

Wit And Judgment Often Are At Strife.

What Nature Wants, Commodious Gold Bestows; 'tis Thus We Cut The Bread Another Sows.

He Knows To Live Who Keeps The Middle State, And Neither Leans On This Side Nor On That.

The World Is A Thing We Must Of Necessity Either Laugh At Or Be Angry At; If We Laugh At It, They Say We Are Proud; If We Are Angry At It, They Say We Are Ill-natured.

Nor Fame I Slight, Nor For Her Favors Call; She Comes Unlooked For, If She Comes At All .

Women, As They Are Like Riddles In Being Unintelligible, So Generally Resemble Them In This, That They Please Us No Longer Once We Know Them.

Avoid Extremes; And Shun The Fault Of Such Who Still Are Pleas'd Too Little Or Too Much.

Intestine War No More Our Passions Wage, And Giddy Factions Bear Away Their Rage.

Praise From A Friend, Or Censure From A Foe, Are Lost On Hearers That Our Merits Know.

Age And Want Sit Smiling At The Gate.

Sole Judge Of Truth, In Endless Error Hurled: / The Glory, Jest, And Riddle Of The World!

A Good-natured Man Has The Whole World To Be Happy Out Of.

All Looks Yellow To The Jaundiced Eye. [and Therefore The Solution Is To Fix The Jaundiced Eye.]

Do Good By Stealth, And Blush To Find It Fame.

The Way Of The Creative Works Through Change And Transformation, So That Each Thing Receives Its True Nature And Destiny And Comes Into Permanent Accord With The Great Harmony: This Is What Furthers And What Perseveres.

Ambition First Sprung From Your Blest Abodes: The Glorious Fault Of Angels And Of Gods.

No More Was Seen The Human Form Divine.

Nor Fame I Slight, Nor Her Favors Call.

Dulness! Whose Good Old Cause I Yet Defend, With Whom My Muse Began, With Who Shall End.

No Writing Is Good That Does Not Tend To Better Mankind In Some Way Or Other.

Pride, Where Wit Fails, Steps In To Our Defence, And Fills Up All The Mighty Void Of Sense.

Good-humor Only Teaches Charms To Last, Still Makes New Conquests And Maintains The Past.

A Gen'rous Heart Repairs A Sland'rous Tongue.

Still Follow Sense, Of Ev'ry Art The Soul, Parts Answering Parts Shall Slide Into A Whole.

Honor And Shame From No Condition Rise. Act Well Your Part: There All The Honor Lies.

It Is Not So Much The Being Exempt From Faults, As Having Overcome Them, That Is An Advantage To Us.

Our Rural Ancestors, With Little Blest, Patient Of Labor When The End Was Rest, Indulged The Day That Housed Their Annual Grain, With Feasts, And Off'rings, And A Thankful Strain.

The Bookful Blockhead Ignorantly Read, With Loads Of Learned Lumber In His Head, With His Own Tongue Still Edifies His Ears, And Always List'ning To Himself Appears. All Books He Reads, And All He Reads Assails.

Nay, Fly To Altars; There They'll Talk You Dead; For Fools Rush In Where Angels Fear To Tread.

Search Then The Ruling Passion: This Clue, Once Found, Unravels All The Rest.

There Is But One Way I Know Of Conversing Safely With All Men; That Is, Not By Concealing What We Say Or Do, But By Saying Or Doing Nothing That Deserves To Be Concealed.

Expression Is The Dress Of Thought.

Old Men, For The Most Part, Are Like Old Chronicles That Give You Dull But True Accounts Of Times Past, And Are Worth Knowing Only On That Score.

Mark What Unvary'd Laws Preserve Each State, Laws Wise As Nature, And As Fixed As Fate.

Pretty! In Amber To Observe The Forms Of Hairs, Of Straws, Or Dirt, Or Grubs, Or Worms! The Things, We Know, Are Neither Rich Nor Rare, But Wonder How The Devil They Got There.

A Field Of Glory Is A Field For All.

But Honest Instinct Comes A Volunteer; Sure Never To O'er-shoot, But Just To Hit, While Still Too Wide Or Short In Human Wit.

Act Well Your Part, There All The Honour Lies.

The Spider's Touch, How Exquisitely Fine! Feels At Each Thread, And Lives Along The Line.

Satire's My Weapon, But I'm Too Discreet To Run Amuck, And Tilt At All I Meet.

In Lazy Apathy Let Stoics Boast, Their Virtue Fix'd: 't Is Fix'd As In A Frost; Contracted All, Retiring To The Breast; But Strength Of Mind Is Exercise, Not Rest.

Behold The Child, By Nature's Kindly Law, Pleased With A Rattle, Tickled With A Straw; Some Livelier Plaything Gives His Youth Delight, A Little Louder, But As Empty Quite; Scarfs, Garters, Gold, Amuse His Riper Stage, And Beads And Prayer-books Are The Toys Of Age. Pleased With This Bauble Still, As That Before, Till Tired He Sleeps, And Life's Poor Play Is O'er.

Go, Wiser Thou! And In Thy Scale Of Sense Weigh Thy Opinion Against Providence.

Beauties In Vain Their Pretty Eyes May Roll; Charms Strike The Sight, But Merit Wins The Soul.

Sure Of Their Qualities And Demanding Praise, More Go To Ruined Fortunes Than Are Raised.

Know Then, Unnumber'd Spirits Round Thee Fly, The Light Militia Of The Lower Sky.

A Brave Man Thinks No One His Superior Who Does Him An Injury, For He Has It Then In His Power To Make Himself Superior To The Other By Forgiving It.

Love Finds An Altar For Forbidden Fires.

At Length Corruption, Like A General Flood (so Long By Watchful Ministers Withstood), Shall Deluge All; And Avarice, Creeping On, Spread Like A Low-born Mist, And Blot The Sun.

On Wrongs Swift Vengeance Waits.

What Is It To Be Wise? 'tis But To Know How Little Can Be Known, To See All Others' Faults, And Feel Our Own.

With Sharpen'd Sight Pale Antiquaries Pore, Th' Inscription Value, But The Rust Adore. This The Blue Varnish, That The Green Endears; The Sacred Rust Of Twice Ten Hundred Years.

But See How Oft Ambition's Aims Are Cross'd, And Chiefs Contend 'til All The Prize Is Lost!

Who Ne'er Knew Joy But Friendship Might Divide,or Gave His Father Grief But When He Died.

The Only Time You Run Out Of Chances Is When You Stop Taking Them

In Various Talk Th' Instructive Hours They Past, Who Gave The Ball, Or Paid The Visit Last; One Speaks The Glory Of The British Queen, And One Describes A Charming Indian Screen; A Third Interprets Motions, Looks, And Eyes; At Every Word A Reputation Dies.

All Nature Is But Art, Unknown To Thee All Chance, Direction, Which Thou Canst Not See; All Discord, Harmony Not Understood; All Partial Evil, Universal Good.

Learn From The Birds What Food The Thickets Yield; Learn From The Beasts The Physic Of The Field; The Arts Of Building From The Bee Receive; Learn Of The Mole To Plow, The Worm To Weave.

I Never Knew Any Man In My Life Who Could Not Bear Another's Misfortunes Perfectly Like A Christian.

Who Are Next To Knaves? Those That Converse With Them.

A King Is A Mortal God On Earth, Unto Whom The Living God Hath Lent His Own Name As A Great Honour; But Withal Told Him, He Should Die Like A Man, Lest He Should Be Proud, And Flatter Himself That God Hath With His Name Imparted Unto Him His Nature Also. John Locke, "of A King", The Conduct Of The Understanding: Essays, Moral, Economical, And Political A King May Be A Tool, A Thing Of Straw; But If He Serves To Frighten Our Enemies, And Secure Our Property, It Is Well Enough: A Scarecrow Is A Thing Of Straw, But It Protects The Corn.

The Dying Christian To His Soul (1712) -vital Spark Of Heav'nly Flame! Quit, Oh Quit, This Mortal Frame: Trembling, Hoping, Ling'ring, Flying, Oh The Pain, The Bliss Of Dying! Stanza 1.

Fear Not The Anger Of The Wise To Raise; Those Best Can Bear Reproof Who Merit Praise.

Those Move Easiest Who Have Learn'd To Dance.

Yet Graceful Ease, And Sweetness Void Of Pride, Might Hide Her Faults, If Belles Had Faults To Hide: If To Her Share Some Female Errors Fall, Look On Her Face, And You'll Forget 'em All.

A Man Of Business May Talk Of Philosophy; A Man Who Has None May Practice It.

Is Not Absence Death To Those Who Love?

Saying Good Bye

Who Dies In Youth And Vigour, Dies The Best.

Say First, Of God Above Or Man Below; What Can We Reason But From What We Know.

The Vanity Of Human Life Is Like A River, Constantly Passing Away, And Yet Constantly Coming On.

Of Manners Gentle, Of Affections Mild; In Wit A Man; Simplicity, A Child.

There Is Nothing That Is Meritorious But Virtue And Friendship.

Never Find Fault With The Absent.

See Christians, Jews, One Heavy Sabbath Keep, And All The Western World Believe And Sleep.

Get Place And Wealth, If Possible With Grace; If Not, By Any Means Get Wealth And Place.

The Finest Minds, Like The Finest Metals, Dissolve The Easiest.

Fly, Dotard, Fly! With Thy Wise Dreams And Fables Of The Sky.

Now Warm In Love, Now With'ring In My Bloom Lost In A Convent's Solitary Gloom!

Heaven Breathes Thro' Ev'ry Member Of The Whole One Common Blessing, As One Common Soul.

The Man That Loves And Laughs Must Sure Do Well.

Never Elated When Someone's Oppressed, Never Dejected When Another One's Blessed.

Many Men Have Been Capable Of Doing A Wise Thing, More A Cunning Thing, But Very Few A Generous Thing.

By Music Minds An Equal Temper Know, Nor Swell Too High, Nor Sink Too Low. . . . . Warriors She Fires With Animated Sounds. Pours Balm Into The Bleeding Lover's Wounds.

Condition, Circumstance, Is Not The Thing; Bliss Is The Same In Subject Or In King.

The Heart Resolves This Matter In A Trice, "men Only Feel The Smart, But Not The Vice.

For Wit And Judgment Often Are At Strife, Though Meant Each Other's Aid, Like Man And Wife.

A Fly, A Grape-stone, Or A Hair Can Kill.

A Brain Of Feathers, And A Heart Of Lead.

I Have More Zeal Than Wit.

Let Opening Roses Knotted Oaks Adorn, And Liquid Amber Drop From Every Thorn.

All Other Goods By Fortune's Hand Are Given, A Wife Is The Peculiar Gift Of Heaven.

What Riches Give Us Let Us Then Inquire: Meat, Fire, And Clothes. What More? Meat, Clothes, And Fire. Is This Too Little?

Some Positive Persisting Fops We Know, Who, If Once Wrong, Will Needs Be Always So; But You With Pleasure Own Your Errors Past, And Make Each Day A Critique On The Last.

In Vain Sedate Reflections We Would Make When Half Our Knowledge We Must Snatch, Not Take.

On Cold December Fragrant Chaplets Blow, And Heavy Harvests Nod Beneath The Snow.

Why Has Not Man A Microscopic Eye? For This Plain Reason, Man Is Not A Fly. Say What The Use, Were Finer Optics Giv'n, T' Inspect A Mite, Not Comprehend The Heav'n.

A Saint In Crape Is Twice A Saint In Lawn.

Tis All In Vain To Keep A Constant Pother About One Vice And Fall Into Another.

Who Builds A Church To God And Not To Fame, Will Never Mark The Marble With His Name.

In Men, We Various Ruling Passions Find; In Women, Two Almost Divide The Kind Those, Only Fixed, They First Or Last Obey, The Love Of Pleasure, And The Love Of Sway.

See Skulking Truth To Her Old Cavern Fled, Mountains Of Casuistry Heap'd O'er Her Head! Philosophy, That Lean'd On Heav'n Before, Shrinks To Her Second Cause, And Is No More. Physic Of Metaphysic Begs Defence, And Metaphysic Calls For Aid On Sense! See Mystery To Mathematics Fly!

There Still Remains To Mortify A Wit The Many-headed Monster Of The Pit.

Who Breaks A Butterfly On A Wheel?

The Greatest Advantage I Know Of Being Thought A Wit By The World Is, That It Gives One The Greater Freedom Of Playing The Fool.

Beauty Draws Us With A Single Hair.

"with Ev'ry Pleasing, Ev'ry Prudent Part, Say, What Can Chloe Want?"-she Wants A Heart.

How Do We Know That We Have A Right To Kill Creatures That We Are So Little Above, As Dogs, For Our Curiosity Or Even For Some Use To Us?

Hope Springs Eternal In The Human Breast; Man Never Is, But Always To Be Blest. The Soul, Uneasy, And Confin'd From Home, Rest And Expatiates In A Life To Come. Lo, The Poor Indian! Whose Untutor'd Mind Sees God In Clouds, Or Hears Him In The Wind; His Soul Proud Science Never Taught To Stray Far As The Solar Walk Or Milky Way; Yet Simple Nature To His Hope Has Giv'n, Behind The Cloud-topp'd Hill, An Humbler Heav'n.

Love, Hope, And Joy, Fair Pleasure's Smiling Train, Hate, Fear, And Grief, The Family Of Pain, These Mix'd With Art, And To Due Bounds Confin'd Make And Maintain The Balance Of The Mind.

One Thought Of Thee Puts All The Pomp To Flight; Priests, Tapers, Temples, Swim Before My Sight.

Fortune In Men Has Some Small Diff'rence Made, One Flaunts In Rags, One Flutters In Brocade, The Cobbler Apron'd, And The Parson Gown'd, The Friar Hooded, And The Monarch Crown'd.

Is There A Parson Much Bemused In Beer, A Maudlin Poetess, A Rhyming Peer, A Clerk Foredoom'd His Father's Soul To Cross, Who Pens A Stanza When He Should Engross?

When We Are Young, We Are Slavishly Employed In Procuring Something Whereby We May Live Comfortably When We Grow Old; And When We Are Old, We Perceive It Is Too Late To Live As We Proposed.

Placed On This Isthmus Of A Middle State.

Men, Some To Business, Some To Pleasure Take; But Every Woman Is At Heart A Rake.

Do You Find Yourself Making Excuses When You Do Not Perform? Shed The Excuses And Face Reality. Excuses Are The Loser's Way Out. They Will Mar Your Credibility And Stunt Your Personal Growth.

Finding Yourself

Order Is Heaven's First Law.

I Lose My Patience, And I Own It Too, When Works Are Censur'd, Not As Bad But New; While If Our Elders Break All Reason's Laws, These Fools Demand Not Pardon But Applause.

Seas Roll To Waft Me, Suns To Light Me Rise; My Footstool Earth, My Canopy The Skies.

Get Your Enemy To Read Your Works In Order To Mend Them, For Your Friend Is So Much Your Second Self That He Will Judge Too Like You.

Two Purposes In Human Nature Rule. Self- Love To Urge, And Reason To Restrain.

Some Praise At Morning What They Blame At Night, But Always Think The Last Opinion Right.

Lo! The Poor Indian! Whose Untutor'd Mind Sees God In Clouds, Or Hears Him In The Wind; His Soul Proud Science Never Taught To Stray Far As The Solar Walk Or Milky Way.

There Is A Certain Majesty In Simplicity Which Is Far Above All The Quaintness Of Wit.

Fair Tresses Man's Imperial Race Ensnare; And Beauty Draws Us With A Single Hair.

The Blest To-day Is As Completely So, As Who Began A Thousand Years Ago.

A Little Learning Is A Dangerous Thing; Drink Of It Deeply, Or Taste It Not, For Shallow Thoughts Intoxicate The Brain, And Drinking Deeply Sobers Us Again.

Ten Censure Wrong For One Who Writes Amiss.

To Buy Books As Some Do Who Make No Use Of Them, Only Because They Were Published By An Eminent Printer, Is Much As If A Man Should Buy Clothes That Did Not Fit Him, Only Because They Were Made By Some Famous Tailor.

Good-nature And Good-sense Must Ever Join; To Err Is Human, To Forgive, Divine.

Fondly We Think We Honor Merit Then, When We But Praise Ourselves In Other Men.

I Am Satisfied To Trifle Away My Time, Rather Than Let It Stick By Me.

Chaos Of Thought And Passion, All Confused; Still By Himself Abused Or Disabused; Created Half To Rise, And Half To Fall; Great Lord Of All Things, Yet A Prey To All; Sole Judge Of Truth, In Endless Error Hurled,- The Glory, Jest, And Riddle Of The World.

No Senses Stronger Than His Brain Can Bear. Why Has Not Man A Microscopic Eye? For This Plain Reason, Man Is Not A Fly: What The Advantage, If His Finer Eyes Study A Mite, Not Comprehend The Skies?... Or Quick Effluvia Darting Thro' His Brain, Die Of A Rose, In Aromatic Pain? If Nature Thunder'd In His Opening Ears, And Stunn'd Him With The Music Of The Spheres... Who Finds Not Providence All-good And Wise, Alike In What It Gives, And What Denies?

The Lot Of Man - To Suffer And To Die.

Astrologers That Future Fates Foreshow.

Find, If You Can, In What You Cannot Change. Manners With Fortunes, Humours Turn With Climes, Tenets With Books, And Principles With Times.

Is Pride, The Never-failing Vice Of Fools.

A Man Who Admires A Fine Woman, Has Yet Not More Reason To Wish Himself Her Husband, Than One Who Admired The Hesperian Fruit, Would Have Had To Wish Himself The Dragon That Kept It.

Nothing Can Be More Shocking And Horrid Than One Of Our Kitchens Sprinkled With Blood, And Abounding With The Cries Of Expiring Victims Or With The Limbs Of Dead Animals Scattered Or Hung Up Here And There.

Death, Only Death, Can Break The Lasting Chain; And Here, Ev'n Then, Shall My Cold Dust Remain

Old Politicians Chew On Wisdom Past, And Totter On In Business To The Last.

For What I Have Publish'd, I Can Only Hope To Be Pardon'd; But For What I Have Burned, I Deserve To Be Prais'd.

Fine Sense And Exalted Sense Are Not Half So Useful As Common Sense. There Are Forty Men Of Wit For One Man Of Sense; And He That Will Carry Nothing About Him But Gold, Will Be Every Day At A Loss For Want Of Readier Change.

When Two People Compliment Each Other With The Choice Of Anything, Each Of Them Generally Gets That Which He Likes Least.

Some Men's Wit Is Like A Dark Lantern, Which Serves Their Own Turn And Guides Them Their Own Way, But Is Never Known (according To The Scripture Phrase) Either To Shine Forth Before Men, Or To Glorify Their Father In Heaven.

Here Thou, Great Anna! Whom Three Realms Obey, / Dost Sometimes Counsel Take—and Sometimes Tea.

Say, Will The Falcon, Stooping From Above, Smit With Her Varying Plumage, Spare The Dove? Admires The Jay The Insect's Gilded Wings? Or Hears The Hawk When Philomela Sings?

Consult The Genius Of The Place In All.

The Soul's Calm Sunshine, And The Heartfelt Joy.

In Every Work Regard The Writer's End, Since None Can Compass More Than They Intend.

So Vast Is Art, So Narrow Human Wit.

Such Labour'd Nothings, In So Strange A Style, Amaze Th' Unlearn'd And Make The Learned Smile.

Pleasure, Or Wrong Or Rightly Understood, Our Greatest Evil, Or Our Greatest Good.

Praise Is Like Ambergrease: A Little Whiff Of It, And By Snatches, Is Very Agreeable; But When A Man Holds A Whole Lump Of It To Your Nose, It Is A Stink, And Strikes You Down.

Coffee Which Makes The Politician Wise, And See Through All Things With His Half-shut Eyes.

'tis Not Enough Your Counsel Still Be True; Blunt Truths More Mischief Than Nice Falsehoods Do.

Some Have At First For Wits, Then Poets Passed, Turned Critics Next, And Proved Plain Fools At Last.

Who Know But He, Whose Hand The Lightning Forms, Who Heaves Old Ocean, And Who Wings The Storms, Pours Fierce Ambition In A Caesar's Mind.

Heaven From All Creatures Hides The Book Of Fate.

A King May Be A Tool, A Thing Of Straw; But If He Serves To Frighten Our Enemies, And Secure Our Property, It Is Well Enough; A Scarecrow Is A Thing Of Straw, But It Protects The Corn.

Soft Is The Strain When Zephyr Gently Blows.

A Family Is But Too Often A Commonwealth Of Malignants.

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