Rogues In Rags Are Kept In Countenance

The Bookful Blockhead Ignorantly Read, With Loads Of Learned Lumber In His Head, With His Own Tongue Still Edifies His Ears, And Always List'ning To Himself Appears. All Books He Reads, And All He Reads Assails.

Let Opening Roses Knotted Oaks Adorn, And Liquid Amber Drop From Every Thorn.

Dulness! Whose Good Old Cause I Yet Defend, With Whom My Muse Began, With Who Shall End.

Wit In Conversation Is Only A Readiness Of Thought And A Facility Of Expression, Or A Quick Conception And An Easy Delivery.

Whate'er The Talents, Or Howe'er Designed, We Hang One Jingling Padlock On The Mind.