Folly Often Goes Beyond Her Bounds, But

Tis The Common Disease Of All Your Musicians That They Know No Mean, To Be Entreated, Either To Begin Or End.

Calumnies Are Answered Best With Silence.

Still May Syllables Jar With Time, Still May Reason War With Rhyme, Resting Never!

I Have No Urns, No Dusty Monuments; No Broken Images Of Ancestors, Wanting An Ear, Or Nose; No Forged Tales Of Long Descents, To Boast False Honors From.

Thy Praise Or Dispraise Is To Me Alike; One Doth Not Stroke Me, Nor The Other Strike.