Be thou the first true merit to befriend, his praise is lost who stays till all commend.

Pleas'd look forward, pleas'd to look behind,And count each birthday with a grateful mind.

Truths would you teach, or save a sinking land? All fear, none aid you, and few understand.

Whoever thinks a faultless piece to see, Thinks what ne'er was, nor is, nor e'er shall be, In every work regard the writer's end, Since none can compass more than they intend; And if the means be just, the conduct true, Applause, in spite of trivial faults, is due.

Let fortune do her worst, whatever she makes us lose, so long as she never makes us lose our honesty and our independence.

No writing is good that does not tend to better mankind in some way or other.

To the Elysian shades dismiss my soul, where no carnation fades.