What Nothing Earthly Gives, Or

While Pensive Poets Painful Vigils Keep, Sleepless Themselves, To Give Their Readers Sleep.

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.

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

Self-love, The Spring Of Motion, Acts The Soul; Reason's Comparing Balance Rules The Whole. Man, But For That No Action Could Attend, And, But For This, Were Active To No End: Fix'd Like A Plant On His Peculiar Spot, To Draw Nutrition, Propagate, And Rot; Or, Meteor-like, Flame Lawless Thro' The Void, Destroying Others, By Himself Destroy'd.

Expression Is The Dress Of Thought, And Still Appears More Decent As More Suitable; A Vile Conceit In Pompous Words Express'd, Is Like A Clown In Regal Purple Dress'd.