Let The Punishment Fit The Crime.

I Am A Courtier Grave And Serious Who Is About To Kiss Your Hand: Try To Combine A Pose Imperious With A Demeanour Nobly Bland.

When Every Blessed Thing You Have Is Made Of Silver, Or Of Gold, You Long For Simple Pewter.

The Idiot Who Praises, With Enthusiastic Tone, All Centuries But This, And Every Country But His Own.

Spurn Not The Nobly Born With Love Affected; Nor Treat With Virtuous Scorn The Well Connected.

Is Life A Boon? If So, It Must Befall That Death, Whene'er He Call, Must Call Too Soon.