Turn pimp, flatterer, quack, lawyer, parson, be chaplain to an atheist, or stallion to an old woman, anything but a poet; for a poet is worse, more servile, timorous and fawning than any I have named.

I came up stairs into the world, for I was born in a cellar.

There are come Critics so with Spleen diseased, They scarcely come inclining to be pleased: And sure he must have more than mortal Skill, Who please one against his Will.

Blessings ever wait on virtuous deeds, and though a late, a sure reward succeeds.

He that first cries out stop thief, is often he that has stolen the treasure.

No, I'm no enemy to learning; it hurts not me.

It is the business of a comic poet to paint the vices and follies of human kind.