There goes a saying, and 'twas shrewdly said, ''Old fish at table, but young flesh in bed.

Though triumphs were to generals only due, crowns were reserved to grace the soldiers too.

Genius creates, and taste preserves. Taste is the good sense of genius; without taste, genius is only sublime folly.

How happy is the blameless vestal's lot? The world forgetting, by the world forgot.

Then, at the last and only couplet fraught With some unmeaning thing they call a thought, A needless Alexandrine ends the song, That, like a wounded snake, drags its slow length along.

When much dispute has past, we find our tenets just the same as last.

Be thou the first true merit to befriend, his praise is lost who stays till all commend.