Mercy To Him That Shows It, Is

For 'tis A Truth Well Known To Most, That Whatsoever Thing Is Lost, We Seek It, Ere It Comes To Light, In Every Cranny But The Right.

Twere Better To Be Born A Stone Of Ruder Shape, And Feeling None, Than With A Tenderness Like Mine And Sensibilities So Fine! Ah, Hapless Wretch! Condemn'd To Dwell Forever In My Native Shell, Ordained To Move When Others Please, Not For My Own Content Or Ease; But Toss'd And Buffeted About, Now In The Water And Now Out.

Vice Stings Us Even In Our Pleasures, But Virtue Consoles Us Even In Our Pains.

If A Great Man Struggling With Misfortunes Is A Noble Object, A Little Man That Despises Them Is No Contemptible One.

They Best Can Judge A Poet's Worth, Who Oft Themselves Have Known The Pangs Of A Poetic Birth By Labours Of Their Own.