Blest paper-credit! last and best supply! That lends corruption lighter wings to fly!
Whate'er the talents, or howe'er designed, We hang one jingling padlock on the mind.
To wake the soul by tender strokes of art, To raise the genius, and to mend the heart
The flower's are gone when the Fruits appear to ripen.
For critics, as they are birds of prey, have ever a natural inclination to carrion.
Homer excels all the inventors of other arts in this: that he has swallowed up the honor of those who succeeded him.