Know Then This Truth, Enough

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.

Who Dare To Love Their Country, And Be Poor.

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

The Bookful Blockhead, Ignorantly Read With Loads Of Learned Lumber In His Head.

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