Tomorrow is a satire on today, And shows its weakness.

Wouldst thou be famed? have those high acts in view, Brave men would act though scandal would ensue.

The man that makes a character, makes foes.

One to destroy, is murder by the law; and gibbets keep the lifted hand in awe; to murder thousands, takes a specious name, 'War's glorious art', and gives immortal fame.

Man makes a death which Nature never made. And feels a thousand deaths in fearing one.

Men should press forward, in fame's glorious chase; Nobles look backward, and so lose the race.

The soul of man was made to walk the skies.