Even In A Hero's Heart Discretion Is

With That Malignant Envy Which Turns Pale, And Sickens, Even If A Friend Prevail.

The Stage I Chose--a Subject Fair And Free-- 'tis Yours--'tis Mine--'tis Public Property. All Common Exhibitions Open Lie, For Praise Or Censure, To The Common Eye. Hence Are A Thousand Hackney Writers Fed; Hence Monthly Critics Earn Their Daily Bread. This Is A General Tax Which All Must Pay, From Those Who Scribble, Down To Those Who Play.

It Can't Be Nature, For It Is Not Sense.

Amongst The Sons Of Men How Few Are Known Who Dare Be Just To Merit Not Their Own.

There's A Strange Something, Which Without A Brain Fools Feel, And Which E'en Wise Men Can't Explain, Planted In Man, To Bind Him To That Earth, In Dearest Ties, From Whence He Drew His Birth.