Fly, dotard, fly! With thy wise dreams and fables of the sky.

A king may be a tool, a thing of straw; but if he serves to frighten our enemies, and secure our property, it is well enough; a scarecrow is a thing of straw, but it protects the corn.

Yet graceful ease, and sweetness void of pride, Might hide her faults, if belles had faults to hide: If to her share some female errors fall, Look on her face, and you'll forget 'em all.

I was not born for courts and great affairs, but I pay my debts, believe and say my prayers.

What's fame? a fancy'd life in other's breath. A thing beyond us, even before our death.

Behold the child, by Nature's kindly law pleased with a rattle, tickled with a straw.

Where's the man who counsel can bestow, still pleased to teach, and yet not proud to know.