Imagination in a poet is a faculty so wild and lawless that, like a high ranging spaniel, it must have clogs tied to it, lest it outrun the judgment. The great easiness of blank verse renders the poet too luxuriant. He is tempted to say many things which might better be omitted, or, at least shut up in fewer words.

Joy rul'd the day, and Love the night.

For Art may err, but Nature cannot miss.

If passion rules, how weak does reason prove!

But far more numerous was the herd of such, Who think too little, and who talk too much.

Be slow to resolve, but quick in performance.

The bravest men are subject most to chance.