And fools who came to scoff remain'd to pray.

Good people all, with one accord, Lament for Madam Blaize, Who never wanted a good word From those who spoke her praise.

I always get the better when I argue alone.

No one but a fool would measure their satisfaction by what the world thinks of it.

Surely the best way to meet the enemy is head on in the field and not wait till they plunder our very homes.

In arguing too, the parson own'd his skill, For e'en though vanquish'd he could argue still; While words of learned length and thundering sound Amaz'd the gazing rustics rang'd around; And still they gaz'd, and still the wonder grew That one small head could carry all he knew.

There are some faults so nearly allied to excellence that we can scarce weed out the vice without eradicating the virtue.