To wake the soul by tender strokes of art, To raise the genius, and to mend the heart; To make mankind, in conscious virtue bold, Live o'er each Seene, and be what they behold: For this the Tragic Muse first trod the stage.

Fly, dotard, fly! With thy wise dreams and fables of the sky.

Authors, like coins, grow dear as they grow old.

Two purposes in human nature rule. Self- love to urge, and reason to restrain.

Of all the causes which conspire to blind Man's erring judgement, and misguide the mind, What the weak head with strongest bias rules, Is PRIDE, the never-failing vice of fools.

Find, if you can, in what you cannot change. Manners with fortunes, humours turn with climes, Tenets with books, and principles with times.

Is that a birthday? 'tis, alas! too clear; 'Tis but the funeral of the former year.