Cavil You May, But Never Criticise.

What Nature Wants, Commodious Gold Bestows; 'tis Thus We Cut The Bread Another Sows.

As The Twig Is Bent, So Grows The Tree.

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

When We Are Young, We Are Slavishly Employed In Procuring Something Whereby We May Live Comfortably When We Grow Old; And When We Are Old, We Perceive It Is Too Late To Live As We Proposed.

Still When The Lust Of Tyrant Power Succeeds, Some Athens Perishes, Or Some Tully Bleeds.