To pardon those absurdities in ourselves which we cannot suffer in others is neither better nor worse than to be more willing to be fools ourselves than to have others so.

Vice is a monster of so frightful mien As to be hated needs but to be seen; Yet seen too oft, familiar with her face, We first endure, then pity, then embrace.

The villain's censure is extorted praise.

Of Manners gentle, of Affections mild; In Wit a man; Simplicity, a child.

Sure of their qualities and demanding praise, more go to ruined fortunes than are raised.

The sound must seem an echo to the sense.

Pretty conceptions, fine metaphors, glittering expressions, and something of a neat cast of verse are properly the dress, gems, or loose ornaments of poetry.