The bell strikes One. We take no note of time But from its loss. To give it then a tongue Is wise in man. As if an angel spoke, I feel the solemn sound. If heard aright, It is the knell of my departed hours.

And friend received with thumps upon the back.

Polite diseases make some idiots vain, Which, if unfortunately well, they feign.

The clouds may drop down titles and estates, and wealth may seek us, but wisdom must be sought.

Who gives an empire, by the gift defeats All end of giving; and procures contempt Instead of gratitude.

Poor in abundance, famish'd at a feast.

We nothing know, but what is marvellous; Yet what is marvellous, we can't believe.