Light Sufferings Give Us Leisure To Complain.

Men Met Each Other With Erected Look, The Steps Were Higher That They Took; Friends To Congratulate Their Friends Made Haste, And Long Inveterate Foes Saluted As They Pass'd.

Satire Is A Kind Of Poetry In Which Human Vices Are Reprehended.

Ill News Is Wing'd With Fate, And Flies Apace.

Nor Is The People's Judgment Always True: The Most May Err As Grossly As The Few.

I Trade Both With The Living And The Dead, For The Enrichment Of Our Native Language.