All Looks Yellow To A Jaundiced Eye.

Know Then, Unnumber'd Spirits Round Thee Fly, The Light Militia Of The Lower Sky.

True Wit Is Nature To Advantage Dress'd What Oft Was Thought, But Ne'er So Well Express'd; Something Whose Truth Convinced At Sight We Find, That Gives Us Back The Image Of Our Mind. As Shades More Sweetly Recommend The Light, So Modest Plainness Sets Off Sprightly Wit.

And You, My Critics! In The Chequer'd Shade, Admire New Light Thro' Holes Yourselves Have Made.

Absent Or Dead, Still Let A Friend Be Dear.

Whoe'er He Be That Tells My Faults, I Hate Him Mortally.