Give me the avowed, erect and manly foe; Firm I can meet, perhaps return the blow; But of all plagues, good Heaven, thy wrath can send, Save me, oh, save me, from the candid friend

What sort of gods make rats and plagues and dwarfs?

One can love a child, perhaps, more deeply than one can love another adult, but it is rash to assume that the child feels any love in return.

Away with the cant of Measures, not men! -- the idle supposition that it is the harness and not the horses that draw the chariot along. No, Sir, if the comparison must be made, if the distinction must be taken, men are everything, measures comparatively nothing.

Away with the cant of "Measures not men!"--the idle supposition that it is the harness and not the horses that draw the chariot along. No Sir, if the comparison must be made, if the distinction must be taken, men are everything, measures comparatively nothing.

Give me the avowed, the erect, the manly foe; Bold I can meet--perhaps may turn his blow; But of all plagues, good Heaven, thy wrath can send, Save, save, oh! save me from the candid friend.