He hurts me most who lavishly commends.
The best things carried to excess are wrong.
Whom drink made wits, though nature made them fools.
To copy faults is want of sense.
Who often, but without success, have prayed for apt Alliteration's artful aid.
The surest way to health, say what they will, Is never to suppose we shall be ill; Most of the ills which we poor mortals know From doctors and imagination flow.