The Best Things Carried To Excess Are

Keep Up Appearances; There Lies The Test. The World Will Give Thee Credit For The Rest.

To Copy Beauty Forfeits All Pretense To Fame; To Copy Faults Is Want Of Sense

No Tribute Is Laid On Castles In The Air.

The Stage I Chose--a Subject Fair And Free-- 'tis Yours--'tis Mine--'tis Public Property. All Common Exhibitions Open Lie, For Praise Or Censure, To The Common Eye. Hence Are A Thousand Hackney Writers Fed; Hence Monthly Critics Earn Their Daily Bread. This Is A General Tax Which All Must Pay, From Those Who Scribble, Down To Those Who Play.

The Oak, When Living, Monarch Of The Wood; The English Oak, Which, Dead, Commands The Flood.