The world is a thing we must of necessity either laugh at or be angry at; if we laugh at it, they say we are proud; if we are angry at it, they say we are ill-natured.

Two purposes in human nature rule. Self- love to urge, and reason to restrain.

Happy the man whose wish and care a few paternal acres bound, content to breathe his native air in his own ground.

No louder shrieks to pitying heaven are cast, When husbands or lap-dogs breathe their last.

And seem to walk on wings, and tread in air.

Then, at the last and only couplet fraught With some unmeaning thing they call a thought, A needless Alexandrine ends the song, That, like a wounded snake, drags its slow length along.

A wise physician, skill'd our wounds to heal, is more than armies to the public weal.