Curse on all laws but those which love has made.
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.
Fly, dotard, fly! With thy wise dreams and fables of the sky.
Whate'er the talents, or howe'er designed, We hang one jingling padlock on the mind.
True self-love and social are the same.
All chance, direction, which thou canst not see