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

Slave to no sect, who takes no private road, But looks through Nature up to Nature's God.

But those who cannot write, and those who can, All rhyme, and scrawl, and scribble, to a man.

We may see the small value God has for riches, by the people he gives them to.

No louder shrieks to pitying heaven are cast, When husbands or lap-dogs breathe their last.

Vice is a monster of so frightful mien As to be hated needs but to be seen; Yet seen too oft, familiar with her face, We first endure, then pity, then embrace.

That character in conversation which commonly passes for agreeable is made up of civility and falsehood.