That Each From Other Differs, First Confess;

In Adamantine Chains Shall Death Be Bound, And Hell's Grim Tyrant Feel Th' Eternal Wound.

Pretty! In Amber To Observe The Forms Of Hairs, Of Straws, Or Dirt, Or Grubs, Or Worms! The Things, We Know, Are Neither Rich Nor Rare, But Wonder How The Devil They Got There.

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.

Get Your Enemy To Read Your Works In Order To Mend Them, For Your Friend Is So Much Your Second Self That He Will Judge Too Like You.

Some Men's Wit Is Like A Dark Lantern, Which Serves Their Own Turn And Guides Them Their Own Way, But Is Never Known (according To The Scripture Phrase) Either To Shine Forth Before Men, Or To Glorify Their Father In Heaven.