Th' Unwilling Gratitude Of Base Mankind!

I Think A Good Deal May Be Said To Extenuate The Fault Of Bad Poets. What We Call A Genius, Is Hard To Be Distinguish'd By A Man Himself, From A Strong Inclination: And If His Genius Be Ever So Great, He Can Not At First Discover It Any Other Way, Than By Giving Way To That Prevalent Propensity Which Renders Him The More Liable To Be Mistaken.

Virtue, I Grant You, Is An Empty Boast; But Shall The Dignity Of Vice Be Lost?

Awake, My St. John! Leave All Meaner Things To Low Ambition And The Pride Of Kings. Let Us (since Life Can Little More Supply Than Just To Look About Us, And To Die) Expatiate Free O'er All This Scene Of Man; A Mighty Maze! But Not Without A Plan.

Fame, Wealth, And Honour! What Are You To Love?

To Rest, The Cushion And Soft Dean Invite, Who Never Mentions Hell To Ears Polite.