“Some who grow dull religious straight commenceAnd gain in morals what they lose in sense.”

“Then most our trouble still when most admired,And still the more we give, the more required;Whose fame with pains we guard, but lose with ease,Sure some to vex, but never all to please.”

“Let Sporus tremble — "What? that thing of silk, Sporus, that mere white curd of ass's milk?Satire or sense, alas! can Sporus feel?Who breaks a Butterfly upon a Wheel?"Yet let me flap this Bug with gilded wings,This painted Child of Dirt that stinks and stings; Whose Buzz the Witty and the Fair annoys,Yet Wit ne'er tastes, and Beauty ne'er enjoys,”

“How vain are all these Glories, all our Pains,Unless good Sense preserve what Beauty gains:That Men may say, when we the Front-box grace,Behold the first in Virtue, as in Face!”

“Oh! if to dance all night, and dress all day,Charm'd the small-pox, or chased old age away;Who would not scorn what housewife's cares produce,Or who would learn one earthly thing of use?”

“Words are like Leaves; and where they most abound,Much Fruit of Sense beneath is rarely found.”

“Men, some to business take, some to pleasure take; but every woman is at heart a rake”