I as little fear that God will damn a man that has charity, as I hope that the priests can save one who has not.

Pretty conceptions, fine metaphors, glittering expressions, and something of a neat cast of verse are properly the dress, gems, or loose ornaments of poetry.

Our plenteous streams a various race supply, The bright-eyed perch with fins of Tyrian dye, The silver eel, in shining volumes roll'd, The yellow carp, in scales bedropp'd with gold, Swift trouts, diversified with crimson stains, And pikes, the tyrants of the wat'ry plains.

Slave to no sect, who takes no private road, But looks through Nature up to Nature's God.

What Reason weaves, by Passion is undone.

To wake the soul by tender strokes of art, To raise the genius, and to mend the heart

Nor Fame I slight, nor her favors call.