Those Who Raise Envy Will

The Surest Way To Health, Say What They Will, Is Never To Suppose We Shall Be Ill; Most Of The Ills Which We Poor Mortals Know From Doctors And Imagination Flow.

Genius Is Of No Country; Her Pure Ray Spreads All Abroad, As General As The Day.

What It 't To Us, If Taxes Rise Or Fall, Thanks To Our Fortune, We Pay None At All. Let Muckworms Who In Dirty Acres Deal, Lament Those Hardships Which We Cannot Feel, His Grace Who Smarts, May Bellow If He Please, But Must I Bellow Too, Who Sit At Ease? By Custom Safe, The Poets' Numbers Flow, Free As The Light And Air Some Years Ago. No Statesman E'er Will Find It Worth His Pains To Tax Our Labours, And Excise Our Brains. Burthens Like These With Earthly Buildings Bear, No Tributes Laid On Castles In The Air.

England, A Happy Land We Know, Where Follies Naturally Grow, Where Without Culture They Arise, And Tow'r Above The Common Size.

Wit, Who Never Once Forgave A Brother, Shall Forgive A Dunce.