And Write About It, Goddess, And About

Conceit Is To Nature What Paint Is To Beauty; It Is Not Only Needless, But It Impairs What It Would Improve.

The Greatest Advantage I Know Of Being Thought A Wit By The World Is, That It Gives One The Greater Freedom Of Playing The Fool.

The Lamb Thy Riot Dooms To Bleed Today, Had He Thy Reason, Would He Skip And Play? Pleas'd To The Last He Crops The Flow'ry Food, And Licks The Hand Just Rais'd To Shed His Blood.

Tis All In Vain To Keep A Constant Pother About One Vice And Fall Into Another.

All Nature Is But Art Unknown To Thee.