No Tribute Is Laid On Castles In

Weak Is That Throne, And In Itself Unsound, Which Takes Not Solid Virtue For Its Ground.

The Danger Chiefly Lies In Acting Well; No Crime's So Great As Daring To Excel.

To Copy Beauty Forfeits All Pretense To Fame; To Copy Faults Is Want Of Sense

The Scots Are Poor, Cries Surly English Pride; True Is The Charge, Nor By Themselves Denied. Are They Not Then In Strictest Reason Clear, Who Wisely Come To Mend Their Fortunes Here?

He Hurts Me Most Who Lavishly Commends.