'Tis not enough your counsel still be true; Blunt truths more mischief than nice falsehoods do.

A gen'rous heart repairs a sland'rous tongue.

What dire offence from am'rous causes springs, What mighty contests rise from trivial things.

Some judge of authors' names, not works, and then Nor praise nor blame the writings, but the men.

Our plenteous streams a various race supply, The bright-eyed perch with fins of Tyrian dye, The silver eel, in shining volumes roll'd, The yellow carp, in scales bedropp'd with gold, Swift trouts, diversified with crimson stains, And pikes, the tyrants of the wat'ry plains.

Beauty draws us with a single hair.

For thee I dim these eye and stuff this head With all such reading as was never read.