The Common Damn'd Shun Their Society.

How Shocking Must Thy Summons Be, O Death, To Him That Is At Ease In His Possessions! Who, Counting On Long Years Of Pleasure Here, Is Quite Unfurnished For The World To Come.

When It Draws Near To Witching Time Of Night.

Action, So To Speak, Is The Genius Of Nature.

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

Throughout The Whole Vegetable, Sensible, And Rational World, Whatever Makes Progress Towards Maturity, As Soon As It Has Passed That Point, Begins To Verge Towards Decay.