Sole Judge Of Truth, In

What Reason Weaves, By Passion Is Undone.

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

I Have More Zeal Than Wit.

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.

When To Mischief Mortals Bend Their Will, How Soon They Find It Instruments Of Ill.