On her white breast a sparkling cross she wore, Which Jews might kiss and infidels adore.

Who sees with equal eye, as God of all, A hero perish or a sparrow fall, Atoms or systems into ruin hurl'd, And now a bubble burst, and now a world.

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.

True ease in writing comes from art, not chance, As those move easiest who have learned to dance.

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

O peace! how many wars were waged in thy name.

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