“The winds that never moderation knew,Afraid to blow too much, too faintly blew;Or out of breath with joy, could not enlarge Their straighten'd lungs or conscious of their charge.”

“But far more numerous was the herd of such,Who think too little, and who talk too much.”

“I strongly wish for what I faintly hope; like the daydreams of melancholy men, I think and think in things impossible, yet love to wander in that golden maze.”

“For whatsoe'er their sufferings were before,That change they covet makes them suffer more.All other errors but disturb a state;But innovation is the blow of fate.”

“Of no distemper, of no blast he died, But fell like autumn fruit that mellowed long — Even wondered at, because he dropped no sooner. Fate seemed to wind him up for fourscore years, Yet freshly ran he on ten winters more; Till like a clock worn out with eating time, The wheels of weary life at last stood still.”

“When I consider Life, 'tis all a cheat;Yet, fooled with hope, men favour the deceit;Trust on, and think to-morrow will repay:To-morrow's falser than the former day;Lies worse; and while it says, we shall be blestWith some new joys, cuts off what we possesst.”

“Those who write ill, and they who ne'er durst write,Turn critics out of mere revenge and spite.”