Cursed be the verse, how well so e'er it flow, That tends to make one worthy man my foe.
Whoe'er he be That tells my faults, I hate him mortally.
The sound must seem an echo to the sense.
A little learning is a dangerous thing.
I find myself hoping a total end of all the unhappy divisions of mankind by party-spirit, which at best is but the madness of many for the gain of a few.
Thus let me live, unseen, unknown, Thus unlamented let me die, Steal from the world, and not a stone Tell where I lie.