I cannot raise my worth too high; Of what vast consequence am I! "Not of the importance you suppose," Replies a Flea upon his nose; "Be humble, learn thyself to scan; Know, pride was never made for man.

Here Shock, the pride of all his kind, is laid, Who fawned like man, but ne'er like man betrayed.

A rich rogue nowadays is fit company for any gentleman; and the world, my dear, hath not such a contempt for roguery as you imagine.

I hate the man who builds his name On ruins of another's fame. Thus prudes, by characters o'erthrown, Imagine that they raise their own. Thus Scribblers, covetous of praise, Think slander can transplant the bays.

The sun was set; the night came on apace, And falling dews bewet around the place; The bat takes airy rounds on leathern wings, And the hoarse owl his woeful dirges sings.

Variety's the source of joy below, From whence still fresh-revolving pleasures flow, In books and love the mind one end pursues, And only change the expiring flames renews.

Fair is the marigold, for pottage meet.