To Copy Faults Is Want Of Sense.

Nor Waste Their Sweetness In The Desert Air.

Constant Attention Wears The Active Mind, Blots Out Our Pow'rs, And Leaves A Blank Behind.

A Servile Race Who, In Mere Want Of Fault, All Merit Place; Who Blind Obedience Pay To Ancient Schools, Bigots To Greece, And Slaves To Musty Rules.

Genius Is Nothing More Than Inflamed Enthusiasm.

With Curious Art The Brain, Too Finely Wrought, Preys On Herself, And Is Destroyed By Thought.