If You Were To Make Little Fishes

Who Mix'd Reason With Pleasure, And Wisdom With Mirth: If He Had Any Faults, He Has Left Us In Doubt.

Processions, Cavalcades, And All That Fund Of Gay Frippery, Furnished Out By Tailors, Barbers, And Tire-women, Mechanically Influence The Mind Into Veneration; An Emperor In His Nightcap Would Not Meet With Half The Respect Of An Emperor With A Crown.

Pity And Friendship Are Two Passions Incompatible With Each Other.

We Sometimes Had Those Little Rubs Which Providence Sends To Enhance The Value Of Its Favors.

But Times Are Alter'd; Trade's Unfeeling Train Usurp The Land, And Dispossess The Swain; Along The Lawn, Where Scatter'd Hamlets Rose, Unwieldy Wealth And Cumbrous Pomp Repose.