They Think Too Little Who Talk Too

There Is A Proud Modesty In Merit.

Then We Upon Our Globe's Last Verge Shall Go, And View The Ocean Leaning On The Sky: From Thence Our Rolling Neighbours We Shall Know, And On The Lunar World Securely Pry.

Woman's Honor Is Nice As Ermine; It Will Not Bear A Soil.

And That One Hunting, Which The Devil Design'd For One Fair Female, Lost Him Half The Kind.

Satire Is A Kind Of Poetry In Which Human Vices Are Reprehended.