Th' Unwilling Gratitude Of Base Mankind!

And More Than Echoes Talk Along The Walls.

Oft, As In Airy Rings They Skim The Heath, The Clamtrous Lapwings Feel The Leaden Death; Oft, As The Mounting Larks Their Notes Prepare They Fall, And Leave Their Little Lives In Air.

Virtue, I Grant You, Is An Empty Boast; But Shall The Dignity Of Vice Be Lost?

The People's Voice Is Odd, It Is, And It Is Not, The Voice Of God.

Get Your Enemy To Read Your Works In Order To Mend Them, For Your Friend Is So Much Your Second Self That He Will Judge Too Like You.