Nor In The Critic Let The Man

The Finest Minds, Like The Finest Metals, Dissolve The Easiest.

On Cold December Fragrant Chaplets Blow, And Heavy Harvests Nod Beneath The Snow.

Dear, Damned, Distracting Town, Farewell! Thy Fools No More I'll Tease: This Year In Peace, Ye Critics, Dwell, Ye Harlots, Sleep At Ease!

Pleasure, Or Wrong Or Rightly Understood, Our Greatest Evil, Or Our Greatest Good.

No Woman Ever Hates A Man For Being In Love With Her, But Many A Woman Hate A Man For Being A Friend To Her.