To Shoot At Crows Is Powder Flung

From Kings To Cobblers 'tis The Same; Bad Servants Wound Their Masters' Fame.

Around The Steel No Tortur'd Worm Shall Twine, No Blood Of Living Insect Stain My Line; Let Me, Less Cruel, Cast The Feather'd Hook, With Pliant Rod Athwart The Pebbled Brook, Silent Along The Mazy Margin Stray, And With The Fur-wrought Fly Delude The Prey.

Fools May Our Scorn, Not Envy, Raise. For Envy Is A Kind Of Praise.

In Love We Are All Fools Alike.

You Can Only Be Called A Hypocrite If You Judge Others First.