Whoe'er He Be That Tells My Faults,

There Is A Majesty In Simplicity.

Beauties In Vain Their Pretty Eyes May Roll; Charms Strike The Sight, But Merit Wins The Soul.

Whoever Thinks A Faultless Piece To See, Thinks What Ne'er Was, Nor Is, Nor E'er Shall Be, In Every Work Regard The Writer's End, Since None Can Compass More Than They Intend; And If The Means Be Just, The Conduct True, Applause, In Spite Of Trivial Faults, Is Due.

For He Lives Twice Who Can At Once Employ, The Present Well, And E'en The Past Enjoy.

Wine Lets No Lover Unrewarded Go.