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.

To be angry is to revenge the faults of others on ourselves.

Who builds a church to God and not to fame, Will never mark the marble with his name.

No craving void left aching in the soul.

How vast a memory has Love!

Education forms the common mind. Just as the twig is bent, the tree's inclined.

'Tis not enough your counsel still be true; Blunt truths more mischief than nice falsehoods do.