Fiction is of the essence of poetry as well as of painting; there is a resemblance in one of human bodies, things, and actions which are not real, and in the other of a true story by fiction.

For all the happiness mankind can gain Is not in pleasure, but in rest from pain.

Set all things in their own peculiar place, and know that order is the greatest grace.

And plenty makes us poor.

Fool that I was, upon my eagle's wings I bore this wren, till I was tired with soaring, and now he mounts above me.

When he spoke, what tender words he used! So softly, that like flakes of feathered snow, They melted as they fell.

A farce is that in poetry which grotesque (caricature) is in painting. The persons and actions of a farce are all unnatural, and the manners false, that is, inconsistent with the characters of mankind; and grotesque painting is the just resemblance of this.