Whoe'er he be That tells my faults, I hate him mortally.

Presumptuous Man! the reason wouldst thou find,Why form'd so weak, so little, and so blind?First, if thou canst, the harder reason guess,Why form'd no weaker, blinder, and no less!Ask of thy mother earth, why oaks are madeTaller or stronger than the weeds they shade?Or ask of yonder argent fields above,Why Jove's Satellites are less than Jove?

A perfect judge will read each word of wit with the same spirit that its author writ.

The proper study of Mankind is Man.

And all who told it added something new, and all who heard it, made enlargements too.

Go, wiser thou! and in thy scale of sense weigh thy opinion against Providence.

To wake the soul by tender strokes of art, To raise the genius, and to mend the heart