Fondly we think we honor merit then, when we but praise ourselves in other men.

Beauty draws us with a single hair.

Who dare to love their country, and be poor.

Woman's at best a contradiction still.

Yet graceful ease, and sweetness void of pride, Might hide her faults, if belles had faults to hide: If to her share some female errors fall, Look on her face, and you'll forget 'em all.

Wit in conversation is only a readiness of thought and a facility of expression, or a quick conception and an easy delivery.

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