The fear of Hell, or aiming to be blest, Savors too much of private interest. This moved not Moses, nor the zealous Paul, Who for their friends abandoned soul and all.
Ingenious to their ruin, every age improves the art and instruments of rage.
The seas are quiet when the winds give o'er; So calm are we when passions are no more!
Stronger by weakness, wiser men become.
Fade, flowers, fade! Nature will have it so; 'tis but what we in our autumn do.
But virtue too, as well as vice, is clad in flesh and blood.