To the Elysian shades dismiss my soul, where no carnation fades.

Chaos of thought and passion, all confused; Still by himself abused or disabused; Created half to rise, and half to fall; Great lord of all things, yet a prey to all; Sole judge of truth, in endless error hurled,- The glory, jest, and riddle of the world.

A little learning is a dangerous thing; Drink deep, or taste not the Pierian spring.

True Wit is Nature to advantage dress'd What oft was thought, but ne'er so well express'd; Something whose truth convinced at sight we find, That gives us back the image of our mind. As shades more sweetly recommend the light, So modest plainness sets off sprightly wit.

Let such teach others who themselves excel, And censure freely who have written well.

I am satisfied to trifle away my time, rather than let it stick by me.

Extremes in nature equal ends produce; In man they join to some mysterious use.