He Hurts Me Most Who Lavishly Commends.

With Various Readings Stored His Empty Skull, Learn'd Without Sense, And Venerably Dull.

No Two On Earth In All Things Can Agree; All Have Some Darling Singularity; Women And Men, As Well As Girls And Boys, In Gewgaws Take Delight, And Sigh For Toys, Your Sceptres And Your Crowns, And Such Like Things, Are But A Better Kind Of Toys For Kings. In Things Indifferent Reason Bids Us Choose, Whether The Whim's A Monkey Or A Muse.

With Curious Art The Brain, Too Finely Wrought, Preys On Herself, And Is Destroyed By Thought.

All Hunt For Fame, But Most Mistake The Way.

Most Of Those Evils We Poor Mortals Know From Doctors And Imagination Flow.