Those Who Would Make Us Feel Must

Tis Mighty Easy O'er A Glass Of Wine On Vain Refinements Vainly To Refine, To Laugh At Poverty In Plenty's Reign, To Boast Of Apathy When Out Of Pain, And In Each Sentence, Worthy Of The Schools, Varnish'd With Sophistry, To Deal Out Rules Most Fit For Practice, But For One Poor Fault That Into Practice They Can Ne'er Be Brought.

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

Genius Is Of No Country.

Most Of Those Evils We Poor Mortals Know From Doctors And Imagination Flow.

Wit, Who Never Once Forgave A Brother, Shall Forgive A Dunce.