Blesses His Stars And Thinks It Luxury.

I'm Weary Of Conjectures, - This Must End 'em. Thus Am I Doubly Armed: My Death And Life, My Bane And Antidote, Are Both Before Me: This In A Moment Brings Me To An End; But This Informs Me I Shall Never Die. The Soul, Secured In Her Existence, Smiles At The Drawn Dagger, And Defies Its Point. The Stars Shall Fade Away, The Sun Himself Grow Dim With Age, And Nature Sink In Years; But Thou Shalt Flourish In Immortal Youth, Unhurt Amidst The War Of Elements, The Wrecks Of Matter, And The Crush Of Worlds.

Others Proclaim The Infirmities Of A Great Man With Satisfaction And Complacence, If They Discover None Of The Like In Themselves.

A Thousand Trills And Quivering Sounds In Airy Circles O'er Us Fly, Till, Wafted By A Gentle Breeze, They Faint And Languish By Degrees, And At A Distance Die.

A Satire Should Expose Nothing But What Is Corrigible, And Should Make A Due Discrimination Between Those That Are And Those That Are Not The Proper Objects Of It.

There Is Not A More Melancholy Object Than A Man Who Has His Head Turned With Religious Enthusiasm.