Nor Waste Their Sweetness In The Desert

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

Quick-circulating Slanders Mirth Afford; And Reputation Bleeds In Every Word.

Amongst The Sons Of Men How Few Are Known Who Dare Be Just To Merit Not Their Own.

The More Haste, Ever The Worst Speed.

Though By Whim, Envy, Or Resentment Led, They Damn Those Authors Whom They Never Read.