Fools Admire, But Men Of Sense Approve.

Hills Peep O'er Hills, And Alps On Alps Arise.

The Cabinets Of The Sick And The Closets Of The Dead Have Been Ransacked To Publish Private Letters And Divulge To All Mankind The Most Secret Sentiments Of Friendship.

Words Are Like Leaves; And Where They Most Abound, Much Fruit Of Sense Beneath Is Rarely Found.

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

Authors Are Partial To Their Wit, 'tis True, But Are Not Critics To Their Judgment, Too?