Be silent always when you doubt your sense.
Tis true, 'tis certain; man, though dead, retains Part of himself; the immortal mind remains.
The worst of madmen is a saint run mad.
Art still followed where Rome's eagles flew.
Where beams of imagination play, the memory's soft figures melt away.
On her white breast a sparkling cross she wore, Which Jews might kiss and infidels adore.