Every Man Is, Or Hopes

Words Too Familiar, Or Too Remote, Defeat The Purpose Of A Poet.

They That Have Grown Old In A Single State Are Generally Found To Be Morose, Fretful And Captious; Tenacious Of Their Own Practices And Maxims; Soon Offended By Contradiction Or Negligence; And Impatient Of Any Association But With Those That Will Watch Their Nod, And Submit Themselves To Unlimited Authority.

That There Is Something In Advice Very Useful And Salutary, Seems To Be Equally Confessed On All Hands; Since Even Those That Reject It, Allow For The Most Part That Rejection To Be Wrong, But Charge The Fault Upon The Unskilful Manner In Which It Is Given; They Admit The Efficacy Of The Medicine, But Abhor The Nauseousness Of The Vehicle.

Prosperity's Right Hand Is Industry And Her Left Hand Is Frugality.

Truth, Like Beauty, Varies Its Fashions, And Is Best Recommended By Different Dresses To Different Minds; And He That Recalls The Attention Of Mankind To Any Part Of Learning Which Time Has Left Behind It, May Be Truly Said To Advance The Literatures Of His Own Age. As The Manners Of Nations Vary, New Topicks Of Persuasion Become Necessary, And New Combinations Of Imagery Are Produced; And He That Can Accommodate Himself To The Reigning Taste, May Always Have Readers Who Perhaps Would Not Have Looked Upon Better Performances.