In Vain Sedate Reflections We Would Make

Extremes In Nature Equal Ends Produce; In Man They Join To Some Mysterious Use.

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.

There Is A Certain Majesty In Simplicity Which Is Far Above All The Quaintness Of Wit.

All Looks Yellow To A Jaundiced Eye.

Hear How The Birds, On Ev'ry Blooming Spray, With Joyous Musick Wake The Dawning Day.