For Patience, Sov'reign O'er Transmuted Ill.

These Are The Men Who, Without Virtue, Labour, Or Hazard, Are Growing Rich, As Their Country Is Impoverished; They Rejoice, When Obstinacy Or Ambition Adds Another Year To Slaughter And Devastation; And Laugh, From Their Desks, At Bravery And Science, While They Are Adding Figure To Figure, And Cipher To Cipher, Hoping For A New Contract From A New Armament, And Computing The Profits Of A Siege Or Tempest.

Self-love Is Often Rather Arrogant Than Blind; It Does Not Hide Our Faults From Ourselves, But Persuades Us That They Escape The Notice Of Others.

That There Is Something In Advice Very Useful And Salutary, Seems To Be Equally Confessed On All Hands; Since Even Those That Reject It, Allow For The Most Part That Rejection To Be Wrong, But Charge The Fault Upon The Unskilful Manner In Which It Is Given; They Admit The Efficacy Of The Medicine, But Abhor The Nauseousness Of The Vehicle.

An Infallible Characteristic Of Meanness Is Cruelty. Men Who Have Practiced Tortures On Animals Without Pity, Relating Them Without Shame, How Can They Still Hold Their Heads Among Human Beings?

I Have Adopted The Roman Sentiment, That It Is More Honorable To Save A Citizen Than To Kill An Enemy.