Be wise to-day; 't is madness to defer.

He mourns the dead who lives as they desire.

Death! great proprietor of all! 'tis thine To tread out empire, and to quench the stars.

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

A dearth of words a woman need not fear; But 'tis a task indeed to learn to hear: In that the skill of conversation lies; That shows and makes you both polite and wise.

We wish our names eternally to live; Wild dream! which ne'er had haunted human thought, Had not our natures been eternal too.

Tis immortality, 'tis that alone, Amid life's pains, abasements, emptiness, The soul can comfort, elevate, and fill. That only, and that amply this performs.