Who Climbs The Grammar-tree, Distinctly Knows Where

…so When The Last And Dreadful Hour This Crumbling Pageant Shall Devour, The Trumpet Shall Be Heard On High, The Dead Shall Live, The Living Die, And Music Shall Untune The Sky

There Is A Pleasure In Being Mad, Which None But Madmen Know.

For Truth Has Such A Face And Such A Mien, As To Be Loved Needs Only To Be Seen.

There Is A Proud Modesty In Merit.

I Maintain, Against The Enemies Of The Stage, That Patterns Of Piety, Decently Represented, May Second The Precepts.