Praise Undeserved, Is Satire In Disguise.

Avoid Extremes; And Shun The Fault Of Such Who Still Are Pleas'd Too Little Or Too Much.

The Muse But Serv'd To Ease Some Friend, Not Wife, / To Help Me Through This Long Disease, My Life.

Great Oaks Grow From Little Acorns. He Has A Green Thumb. He Has Green Fingers. He's Sowing His Wild Oats. Here Ceres' Gifts In Waving Prospect Stand, And Nodding Tempt The Joyful Reaper's Hand.

Poets Like Painters, Thus Unskilled To Trace The Naked Nature And The Living Grace, With Gold And Jewels Cover Ev'ry Part, And Hide With Ornaments Their Want Of Art. True Wit Is Nature To Advantage Dressed, What Oft Was Thought, But Ne'er So Well Expressed.

In This Commonplace World Every One Is Said To Be Romantic Who Either Admires A Fine Thing Or Does One.