The Vulgar Boil, The Learned Roast, An

Here Hills And Vales, The Woodland And The Plain Here Earth And Water Seem To Strive Again, Not Chaos-like Together Crushed And Bruised, But, As The World, Harmoniously Confused: Where Order In Variety We See, And Where, Though All Things Differ, All Agree.

Drink Is The Feast Of Reason And The Flow Of Soul.

I Lose My Patience, And I Own It Too, When Works Are Censur'd, Not As Bad But New; While If Our Elders Break All Reason's Laws, These Fools Demand Not Pardon But Applause.

A Saint In Crape Is Twice A Saint In Lawn.

The Difference Is Too Nice - Where Ends The Virtue Or Begins The Vice.