Ill News Are Swallow-winged, But What Is

Thou Art Figured Blind, And Yet We Borrow Our Best Sight From Thee.

True Dignity Is Never Gained By Place, And Never Lost When Honors Are Withdrawn.

My Dancing Days Are Past.

Virtue, Thou In Rags, May Challenge More Than Vice Set Off With All The Trim Of Greatness.

Greatness, With Private Men Esteem'd A Blessing, Is To Me A Curse; And We, Whom, For Our High Births, They Conclude The Happy Freemen, Are The Only Slaves. Happy The Golden Mean!