How Blunt Are All The Arrows Of

Industry Is Not Only The Instrument Of Improvement, But The Foundation Of Pleasure. He Who Is A Stranger To It May Possess, But Cannot Enjoy, For It Is Labor Only Which Gives Relish To Pleasure. It Is The Indispensable Condition Of Possessing A Sound Mind In A Sound Body, And It Is The Appointed Vehicle Of Every Good To Man.

Of Joys Departed, Not To Return, How Painful The Remembrance

The Best-concerted Schemes Men Lay For Fame, Die Fast Away: Only Themselves Die Faster. The Far-fam'd Sculptor, And The Laurell'd Bard, Those Bold Insurancers Of Deathless Fame, Supply Their Little Feeble Aids In Vain.

Whistling Aloud To Bear His Courage Up.

The Tap'ring Pyramid, The Egyptian's Pride, And Wonder Of The World, Whose Spiky Top Has Wounded The Thick Cloud.