Thou wert my guide, philosopher, and friend.

Sometimes virtue starves while vice is fed.

Beauties in vain their pretty eyes may roll; charms strike the sight, but merit wins the soul.

Is there a parson much bemused in beer, a maudlin poetess, a rhyming peer, a clerk foredoom'd his father's soul to cross, who pens a stanza when he should engross?

Behold the groves that shine with silver frost, their beauty withered, and their verdure lost!

The finest minds, like the finest metals, dissolve the easiest.

Homer excels all the inventors of other arts in this: that he has swallowed up the honor of those who succeeded him.