Good God! how often are we to die before we go quite off this stage? In every friend we lose a part of ourselves, and the best part.

Praise undeserved, is satire in disguise.

O peace! how many wars were waged in thy name.

But blind to former as to future fate, what mortal knows his pre-existent state?

Light quirks of music, broken and uneven,Make the soul dance upon a jig to Heav'n.

She who ne'er answers till a husband cools, Or, if she rules him, never shows she rules; Charms by accepting, by submitting, sways, Yet has her humor most, when she obeys.

All nature is but art unknown to thee.