Every Want That Stimulates The Breast Becomes

The Very Pink Of Perfection.

Were I To Be Angry At Men Being Fools, I Could Here Find Ample Room For Declamation; But, Alas! I Have Been A Fool Myself; And Why Should I Be Angry With Them For Being Something So Natural To Every Child Of Humanity?

Error Is Always Talkative.

Pity, Though It May Often Relieve, Is But, At Best, A Short-lived Passion, And Seldom Affords Distress More Than Transitory Assistance; With Some It Scarce Lasts From The First Impulse Till The Hand Can Be Put Into The Pocket.

Of Praise A Mere Glutton, He Swallow'd What Came, And The Puff A Dunce, He Mistook It For Fame; Till His Relish Grown Callous, Almost To Displease, Who Pepper'd The Highest Was Surest To Please.