For Men To Tell How Human Life

Praise From An Enemy Smells Of Craft.

I Cannot Praise A Fugitive And Cloistered Virtue, Unexercised And Unbreathed, That Never Sallies Out And Sees Her Adversary, But Slinks Out Of The Race Where That Immortal Garland Is To Be Run For, Not Without Dust And Heat.

Come Knit Hands, And Beat The Ground In A Light Fantastic Round

For Neither Man Nor Angel Can Discern Hypocrisy, The Only Evil That Walks Invisible, Except To God Alone.

Confidence Imparts A Wonderful Inspiration To The Possessor.