Who Pleases One Against His Will.

It Is The Business Of A Comic Poet To Paint The Vices And Follies Of Human Kind.

O Ay, Letters - I Had Letters - I Am Persecuted With Letters - I Hate Letters - Nobody Knows How To Write Letters; And Yet One Has 'em, One Does Not Know Why - They Serve One To Pin Up One's Hair.

There Are Times When Sense May Be Unseasonable, As Well As Truth.

Come, Come, Leave Business To Idlers, And Wisdom To Fools: They Have Need Of 'em: Wit Be My Faculty, And Pleasure My Occupation, And Let Father Time Shake His Glass.

Defer Not Till To-morrow To Be Wise, To-morrow's Sun To Thee May Never Rise; Or Should To-morrow Chance To Cheer Thy Sight With Her Enlivening And Unlook'd For Light, How Grateful Will Appear Her Dawning Rays! As Favours Unexpected Doubly Please.