For who, to dumb forgetfulness a prey, This pleasing anxious being e'er resign'd, Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day, Nor cast one longing ling'ring look behind?

Any fool may write a most valuable book by chance, if he will only tell us what he heard and saw with veracity.

Beyond the limits of a vulgar fate, Beneath the good how far,-but far above the great.

Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere, Heaven did a recompense as largely send: He gave to mis'ry (all he had) a tear, He gained from Heav'n ('t was all he wish'd) a friend.

If the best man's faults were written on his forehead, he would draw his hat over his eyes.

And moody madness laughing wild Amid severest woe.

Scatter plenty o'er a smiling land.