For Art May Err, But Nature Cannot

Jealousy's A Proof Of Love, But 'tis A Weak And Unavailing Medicine; It Puts Out The Disease And Makes It Show, But Has No Power To Cure.

Ill Fortune Seldom Comes Alone.

A Man May Be Capable, As Jack Ketch's Wife Said Of His Servant, Of A Plain Piece Of Work, A Bare Hanging; But To Makea Malefactordiesweetly Was Only Belonging Toher Husband.

Ill Writers Are Usually The Sharpest Censors.

Every Language Is So Full Of Its Own Proprieties That What Is Beautiful In One Is Often Barbarous, Nay, Sometimes Nonsense, In Another.