What Pity 'tis, One That Can Speak

It Is True Fortitude To Stand Firm Against All Shocks Of Fate, When Cowards Faint And Die In Fear To Suffer More Calamity.

Tis The Only Discipline We Are Born For; All Studies Else Are But As Circular Lines, And Death The Center Where They All Must Meet.

Greatness, With Private Men Esteem'd A Blessing, Is To Me A Curse; And We, Whom, For Our High Births, They Conclude The Happy Freemen, Are The Only Slaves. Happy The Golden Mean!

A Diamond, Though Set In Horns, Is Still A Diamond, And Sparkles In Purest Gold.

Malice Scorned, Puts Out Itself; But Argued, Give A Kind Of Credit To A False Accusation.