But those who cannot write, and those who can, All rhyme, and scrawl, and scribble, to a man.

On wrongs swift vengeance waits.

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

The finest minds, like the finest metals, dissolve the easiest.

Be not the first by whom the new are tried, Nor yet the last to lay the old aside.

Still when the lust of tyrant power succeeds, some Athens perishes, or some Tully bleeds.

The bookful blockhead, ignorantly read With loads of learned lumber in his head.