Let such teach others who themselves excel, And censure freely who have written well.
The flower's are gone when the Fruits appear to ripen.
The vulgar boil, the learned roast, an egg.
The good must merit God's peculiar care; But who but God can tell us who they are?
Tis true, 'tis certain; man, though dead, retains Part of himself; the immortal mind remains.
Words are like Leaves; and where they most abound, Much Fruit of Sense beneath is rarely found.