In Death A Hero, As In Life

What Is It To Be Wise? 'tis But To Know How Little Can Be Known, To See All Others' Faults, And Feel Our Own.

Nor In The Critic Let The Man Be Lost.

Our Judgments, Like Our Watches, None Go Just Alike, Yet Each Believes His Own

A Pear-tree Planted Nigh: 'twas Charg'd With Fruit That Made A Goodly Show, And Hung With Dangling Pears Was Every Bough.

In The Nice Bee, What Sense So Subtly True From Pois'nous Herbs Extracts The Healing Dew?