Books Cannot Always Please, However Good; Minds

A Sly Old Fish, Too Cunning For The Hook.

Men Famed For Wit, Of Dangerous Talents Vain, Treat Those Of Common Parts With Proud Disdain; The Powers That Wisdom Would, Improving, Hide, They Blaze Abroad, With Inconsid'rate Pride; While Yet But Mere Probationers For Fame, They Seize The Honor They Should Then Disclaim: Honor So Hurried To The Light Must Fade, The Lasting Laurels Nourish In The Shade.

The Gentle Fair On Nervous Tea Relies, Whilst Gay Good-nature Sparkles In Her Eyes; An Inoffensive Scandal Fluttering Round, Too Rough To Tickle, And Too Light To Wound.

Some Hearts Are Hidden, Some Have Not A Heart.

Fears Of Sinning Let In Thoughts Of Sin.