Nor Fame I Slight, Nor Her Favors

Conceit Is To Nature What Paint Is To Beauty; It Is Not Only Needless, But It Impairs What It Would Improve.

The Good Must Merit God's Peculiar Care; But Who But God Can Tell Us Who They Are?

Hills Peep O'er Hills, And Alps On Alps Arise.

Wretches Hang That Jurymen May Dine.

Tis But A Part We See, And Not A Whole.