Party-spirit at best is but the madness of many for the gain of a few.

Still when the lust of tyrant power succeeds, some Athens perishes, or some Tully bleeds.

Chiefs who no more in bloody fights engage, But wise through time, and narrative with age, In summer-days like grasshoppers rejoice - A bloodless race, that send a feeble voice.

At ev'ry word a reputation dies.

A fellow feeling makes us wondrous kind.

There is nothing wanting to make all rational and disinterested people in the world of one religion, but that they should talk together every day.

Who dare to love their country, and be poor.