Fools May Our Scorn, Not Envy, Raise.

In Beauty Faults Conspicuous Grow; The Smallest Speck Is Seen On Snow.

I Must Have Women - There Is Nothing Unbends The Mind Like Them.

No Author Ever Spar'd A Brother.

Let Firm, Well Hammer'd Soles Protect Thy Feet Through Freezing Snows, And Rains, And Soaking Sleet; Should The Big Last Extend The Shoe Too Wide, Each Stone Will Wrench The Unwary Step Aside; The Sudden Turn May Stretch The Swelling Vein, The Cracking Joint Unhinge, Or Ankle Sprain; And When Too Short The Modish Shoes Are Worn, You'll Judge The Seasons By Your Shooting Corn.

One Common Fate We Both Must Prove; You Die With Envy, I With Love.