He Is At No End Of His

And For The Authentical Truth Of Either Person Or Actions, Who (worth The Respecting) Will Expect It In A Poem, Whose Subject Is Not Truth, But Things Like Truth? Poor Envious Souls They Are That Cavil At Truth's Want In These Natural Fictions; Material Instruction, Elegant And Sententious Excitation To Virtue, And Deflection From Her Contrary, Being The Soul, Limbs, And Limits Of An Authentical Tragedy.

Each Natural Agent Works But To This End,- To Render That It Works On Like Itself.

They're Only Truly Great Who Are Truly Good.

The Incompetent Quickly Throws Himself Into Another Impressive Enterprise In Order To Escape His Responsibility From Previous Disaster.

Tis Immortality To Die Aspiring, As If A Man Were Taken Quick To Heaven.