A Man Must Be Excessively Stupid, As

Wit Is The Fetching Of Congruity Out Of Incongruity.

Poverty Palls The Most Generous Spirits; It Cows Industry, And Casts Resolution Itself Into Despair.

Waning Moons Their Settled Periods Keep, To Swell The Billows And Ferment The Deep.

Men Of Warm Imaginations And Towering Thoughts Are Apt To Overlook The Goods Of Fortune Which Are Near Them, For Something That Glitters In The Sight At A Distance; To Neglect Solid And Substantial Happiness For What Is Showy And Superficial; And To Contemn That Good Which Lies Within Their Reach, For That Which They Are Not Capable Of Attaining. Hope Calculates Its Schemes For A Long And Durable Life; Presses Forward To Imaginary Points Of Bliss; Grasps At Impossibilities; And Consequently Very Often Ensnares Men Into Beggary, Ruin, And Dishonour.

Among The Writers Of Antiquity There Are None Who Instruct Us More Openly In The Manners Of Their Respective Times In Which They Lived Than Those Who Have Employed Themselves In Satire, Under Whatever Dress It May Appear.