The Worst Of Madmen Is A Saint

Nature Made Every Fop To Plague His Brother, Just As One Beauty Mortifies Another.

A Youth Of Frolic, An Old Age Of Cards.

Music Resembles Poetry, In Each Are Nameless Graces Which No Methods Teach, And Which A Master Hand Alone Can Reach.

Love The Offender, Yet Detest The Offense.

I Lisp'd In Numbers, For The Numbers Came.