Good sense, which only is the gift of Heaven, And though no science, fairly worth the seven.

And make each day a critic on the last.

A God without dominion, providence, and final causes, is nothing else but fate and nature.

Woman's at best a contradiction still.

Satire's my weapon, but I'm too discreet To run amuck, and tilt at all I meet.

Tis but a part we see, and not a whole.

Of all the causes which conspire to blind Man's erring judgement, and misguide the mind, What the weak head with strongest bias rules, Is PRIDE, the never-failing vice of fools.