A wise physician, skill'd our wounds to heal, is more than armies to the public weal.
The bookful blockhead, ignorantly read With loads of learned lumber in his head.
A brave man struggling in the storms of fate, And greatly falling with a falling state.
Monuments, like men, submit to fate.
Here am I, dying of a hundred good symptoms.
I find myself hoping a total end of all the unhappy divisions of mankind by party-spirit, which at best is but the madness of many for the gain of a few.