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.

Slave to no sect, who takes no private road, But looks through Nature up to Nature's God.

Wine lets no lover unrewarded go.

Ambition first sprung from your blest abodes: the glorious fault of angels and of gods.

Die of a rose in aromatic pain.

Who taught that heaven-directed spire to rise?

Where's the man who counsel can bestow, still pleased to teach, and yet not proud to know.