Monuments, Like Men, Submit To Fate.

The Cabinets Of The Sick And The Closets Of The Dead Have Been Ransacked To Publish Private Letters And Divulge To All Mankind The Most Secret Sentiments Of Friendship.

Grave Authors Say, And Witty Poets Sing, That Honest Wedlock Is A Glorious Thing.

Chiefs Who No More In Bloody Fights Engage, But Wise Through Time, And Narrative With Age, In Summer-days Like Grasshoppers Rejoice - A Bloodless Race, That Send A Feeble Voice.

Satire's My Weapon, But I'm Too Discreet To Run Amuck, And Tilt At All I Meet.

Whoe'er He Be That Tells My Faults, I Hate Him Mortally.