There Is No Kind Of False Wit

Soon As The Evening Shades Prevail, The Moon Takes Up The Wondrous Tale, And Nightly To The Listening Earth Repeats The Story Of Her Birth.

He Who Would Pass His Declining Years With Honor And Comfort, Should, When Young, Consider That He May One Day Become Old, And Remember When He Is Old, That He Has Once Been Young.

The Ways Of Heaven Are Dark And Intricate, Puzzled In Mazes, And Perplex'd With Errors; Our Understanding Traces Them In Vain, Lost And Bewilder'd In The Fruitless Search; Nor Sees With How Much Art The Windings Run, Nor Where The Regular Confusion Ends.

The Pleasantest Part Of A Man's Life Is Generally That Which Passes In Courtship, Provided His Passion Be Sincere, And The Party Beloved Kind With Discretion. Love, Desire, Hope, All The Pleasing Emotions Of The Soul, Rise In The Pursuit.

Nations With Nations Mix'd Confus'dly Die, And Lost In One Promiscuous Carnage Lie.