It Is A Most Mortifying Reflection For

The Authour Who Imitates His Predecessors Only By Furnishing Himself With Thoughts And Elegances Out Of The Same General Magazine Of Literature, Can With Little More Propriety Be Reproached As A Plagiary, Than The Architect Can Be Censured As A Mean Copier Of Angelo Or Wren, Because He Digs His Marble Out Of The Same Quarry, Squares His Stones By The Same Art, And Unites Them In Columns Of The Same Orders.

Poetry Cannot Be Translated; And, Therefore, It Is The Poets That Preserve The Languages; For We Would Not Be At The Trouble To Learn A Language If We Could Have All That Is Written In It Just As Well In A Translation. But As The Beauties Of Poetry Cannot Be Preserved In Any Language Except That In Which It Was Originally Written, We Learn The Language.

As Not Every Instance Of Similitude Can Be Considered As A Proof Of Imitation, So Not Every Imitation Ought To Be Stigmatised As Plagiarism. The Adoption Of A Noble Sentiment, Or The Insertion Of A Borrowed Ornament, May Sometimes Display So Much Judgment As Will Almost Compensate For Invention; And An Inferior Genius May, Without Any Imputation Of Servility, Pursue The Paths Of The Ancients, Provided He Declines To Tread In Their Footsteps.

There Is Scarcely Any Writer Who Has Not Celebrated The Happiness Of Rural Privacy, And Delighted Himself And His Reader With The Melody Of Birds, The Whisper Of Groves, And The Murmur Of Rivulets.

Whoever Envies Another Confesses His Superiority.