Rogues In Rags Are Kept In Countenance

O Happiness! Our Being's End And Aim! Good, Pleasure, Ease, Content! Whate'er Thy Name: That Something Still Which Prompts The Eternal Sigh, For Which We Bear To Live, Or Dare To Die.

A Perfect Judge Will Read Each Word Of Wit With The Same Spirit That Its Author Writ.

And Little Eagles Wave Their Wings In Gold.

Genius Creates, And Taste Preserves.

The Difference Is As Great Between The Optics Seeing As The Objects Seen. All Manners Take A Tincture From Our Own; Or Come Discolor'd Through Out Passions Shown; Or Fancy's Beam Enlarges, Multiplies, Contracts, Inverts, And Gives Ten Thousand Dyes.