Talk what you will of taste, my friend, you'll find two of a face as soon as of a mind.

Religion blushing, veils her sacred fires, And unawares Morality expires.

Oft, as in airy rings they skim the heath, The clamtrous lapwings feel the leaden death; Oft, as the mounting larks their notes prepare They fall, and leave their little lives in air.

A man of business may talk of philosophy; a man who has none may practice it.

A generous friendship no cold medium knows, Burns with one love, with one resentment glows.

From the moment one sets up for an author, one must be treated as ceremoniously, that is as unfaithfully, "as a king's favorite or a king.

Men, some to business, some to pleasure take; But every woman is at heart a rake.