Born Originals, how comes it to pass that we die Copies?
When men of infamy to grandeur soar, They light a torch to show their shame the more.
Ah, how unjust to Nature and himself Is thoughtless, thankless, inconsistent man!
When men once reach their autumn, sickly joys fall off apace, as yellow leaves from trees
And friend received with thumps upon the back.
Life's cares are comforts; such by Heav'n design'd; He that hath none must make them, or be wretched.