'tis Not A Lip, Or Eye, We

Trust Not Yourself, But Your Defects To Know, Make Use Of Every Friend And Every Foe.

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.

Fondly We Think We Honor Merit Then, When We But Praise Ourselves In Other Men.

How Happy Is The Blameless Vestal's Lot? The World Forgetting, By The World Forgot.

The Dances Ended, All The Fairy Train For Pinks And Daisies Search'd The Flow'ry Plain.