You talk no more of that gay nation now

Joys, which we do not know, we do not wish.

Tender-handed stroke a nettle, And it stings you for your pains; Grasp it like a man of mettle, And it soft as silk remains.’Tis the same with common natures: Use ’em kindly, they rebel; But be rough as nutmeg-graters,

O'er Nature's laws, God cast the veil of night, Out blaz'd a Newton's soul — and all was light.

Yours is the guilt of all, who, judging wrong, Mistake tuned nonsense for the poet's song! Provoking dulness!—what a soul has he Who fancies rhyme, and measure, poetry!— He thinks, profanely, that this generous art Stops at the ear—with …

Courage is poorly housed that dwells in numbers; the lion never counts the herd that are about him, nor weighs how many flocks he has to scatter.

I see too plainly custom forms us all; Our thoughts, our morals, our most fixed belief, Are consequences of our place of birth