A Heretic, My Dear Sir,

The Art Of Poetry Is To Touch The Passions, And Its Duty To Lead Them On The Side Of Virtue.

If Hindrances Obstruct The Way, Thy Magnanimity Display. And Let Thy Strength Be Seen: But O, If Fortune Fill Thy Sail With More Than A Propitious Gale, Take Half Thy Canvas In.

Spring Hangs Her Infant Blossoms On The Trees, Rock'd In The Cradle Of The Western Breeze.

Religion Does Not Censure Or Exclude Unnumbered Pleasures, Harmlessly Pursued.

Alas! If My Best Friend, Who Laid Down His Life For Me, Were To Remember All The Instances In Which I Have Neglected Him, And To Plead Them Against Me In Judgment, Where Should I Hide My Guilty Head In The Day Of Recompense? I Will Pray, Therefore, For Blessings On My Friends, Even Though They Cease To Be So, And Upon My Enemies, Though They Continue Such.