I've known my lady (for she loves a tune) For fevers take an opera in June: And, though perhaps you'll think the practice bold, A midnight park is sov'reign for a cold.

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

We push time from us, and we wish him back; * * * * * * Life we think long and short; death seek and shun.

Nature delights in progress; in advance.

Angels are men of a superior kind; Angels are men in lighter habit clad.

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

How blessings brighten as they take their flight.