Any Of Us Would Kill A Cow

When First The College Rolls Receive His Name, The Young Enthusiast Quilts His Ease For Fame; Through All His Veins The Fever Of Renown Burns From The Strong Contagion Of The Gown

An Englishman Is Content To Say Nothing When He Has Nothing To Say.

That All Who Are Happy Are Equally Happy Is Not True. A Peasant And A Philosopher May Be Equally Satisfied, But Not Equally Happy. A Small Drinking Glass And A Large One May Be Equally Full, But The Large One Holds More Than The Small.

The Parallel Circumstances And Kindred Images To Which We Readily Conform Our Minds Are, Above All Other Writings, To Be Found In The Lives Of Particular Persons, And Therefore No Species Of Writing Seems More Worthy Of Cultivation Than Biography.

Here Lies Our Good Edmund, Whose Genius Was Such, We Scarcely Can Praise It Or Blame It Too Much; Who, Born For The Universe, Narrowed His Mind, And To Party Gave Up What Was Meant For Mankind.