Pleasure, Or Wrong Or Rightly Understood, Our

Worth Makes The Man, And Want Of It The Fellow; The Rest Is All But Leather And Prunello.

Authors, Like Coins, Grow Dear As They Grow Old.

What Bosom Beast Not In His Country's Cause?

To Be, Contents His Natural Desire, He Asks No Angel's Wing, No Seraph's Fire; But Thinks, Admitted To That Equal Sky, His Faithful Dog Shall Bear Him Company. Go Wiser Thou! And In Thy Scale Of Sense Weigh Thy Opinion Against Providence.

Others Import Yet Nobler Arts From France, Teach Kings To Fiddle, And Make Senates Dance.