Our business in the field of fight, Is not to question, but to prove our might.

Absent or dead, still let a friend be dear.

'Tis not a lip, or eye, we beauty call, But the joint force and full result of all.

Good sense, which only is the gift of Heaven, And though no science, fairly worth the seven.

There is a majesty in simplicity.

The same ambition can destroy or save, and make a patriot as it makes a knave.

Praise from a friend, or censure from a foe, Are lost on hearers that our merits know.