Men Would Be Angels, Angels Would Be

Cavil You May, But Never Criticise.

Heaven Gave To Woman The Peculiar Grace To Spin, To Weep, And Cully Human Race.

In Lazy Apathy Let Stoics Boast, Their Virtue Fixed, 'tis Fixed As In A Frost.

I Would Not Be Like Those Authors, Who Forgive Themselves Some Particular Lines For The Sake Of A Whole Poem, And Vice Versa A Whole Poem For The Sake Of Some Particular Lines. I Believe No One Qualification Is So Likely To Make A Good Writer, As The Power Of Rejecting His Own Thoughts.

Simplicity Is The Mean Between Ostentation And Rusticity.