As some to church repair, Not for the doctrine, but the music there. These equal syllables alone require, Though oft the ear the open vowels tire While expletives their feeble aid do join, And ten low words oft creep in one dull line.
Passions are the gales of life.
Praise undeserved, is satire in disguise.
Curse on all laws but those which love has made.
Consult the genius of the place, that paints as you plant, and as you work.
All looks yellow to a jaundiced eye.