Mercy To Him That Shows It, Is

True Modesty Is A Discerning Grace And Only Blushes In The Proper Place; But Counterfeit Is Blind, And Skulks Through Fear, Where 'tis A Shame To Be Asham'd T' Appear: Humility The Parent Of The First, The Last By Vanity Produc'd And Nurs'd.

Riches Have Wings, And Grandeur Is A Dream.

There Is A Mixture Of Evil In Everything We Do; Indulgence Encourages Us To Encroach, While We Crabbe Exercise The Rights Of Children, We Become Childish.

A Tale Should Be Judicious, Clear, Succinct; The Language Plain, And Incidents Well Link'd; Tell Not As New What Ev'ry Body Knows; And, New Or Old, Still Hasten To A Close.

The Frenchman, Easy, Debonair, And Brisk, Give Him His Lass, His Fiddle, And His Frisk, Is Always Happy, Reign Whoever May, And Laughs The Sense Of Mis'ry Far Away.