As The Twig Is Bent, So Grows

Whoe'er He Be That Tells My Faults, I Hate Him Mortally.

I Find Myself Hoping A Total End Of All The Unhappy Divisions Of Mankind By Party-spirit, Which At Best Is But The Madness Of Many For The Gain Of A Few.

A Little Learning Is A Dangerous Thing; Drink Deep, Or Taste Not The Pierian Spring.

Careless Of Censure, Nor Too Fond Of Fame, Still Pleased To Praise, Yet Not Afraid To Blame, Averse Alike To Flatter Or Offend, Not Free From Faults, Nor Yet Too Vain To Mend.

A Long, Exact, And Serious Comedy; In Every Scene Some Moral Let It Teach, And, If It Can, At Once Both Please And Preach.