No Money Is Better Spent Than What

Greece Appears To Be The Fountain Of Knowledge; Rome Of Elegance

The Future Is Purchased By The Present.

But Grant, The Virtues Of A Temp'rate Prime Bless With An Age Exempt From Scorn Or Crime; An Age That Melts With Unperceived Decay, And Glides In Modest Innocence Away

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.

Language Is The Dress Of Thought; And As The Noblest Mien Or Most Graceful Action Would Be Degraded And Obscured By A Garb Appropriated To The Gross Employments Of Rusticks Or Mechanics, So The Most Heroick Sentiments Will Lose Their Efficacy