Nothing in Nature, much less conscious being, Was e'er created solely for itself.

This vast and solid earth, that blazing sun, Those skies, thro' which it rolls, must all have end. What then is man? The smallest part of nothing.

As soon as we have found the key of life, it opens the gates of death.

He that's ungrateful has no guilt but one; All other crimes may pass for virtues in him.

Some go to Church, proud humbly to repent, And come back much more guilty than they went: One way they look, another way they steer, Pray to the Gods; but would have Mortals hear; And when their sins they set sincerely down, They'll find that their Religion has been one.

We see time's furrows on another's brow, And death intrench'd, preparing his assault; How few themselves in that just mirror see!

The booby father craves a booby son, And by Heaven's blessing thinks himself undone.