Nature delights in progress; in advance.

Day buries day; month, month; and year the year: Our life is but a chain of many deaths.

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

There buds the promise of celestial worth.

An angel's arm can't snatch me from the grave; legions of angels can't confine me there.

Pygmies are pygmies still, though percht on Alps; And pyramids are pyramids in vales. Each man makes his own stature, builds himself. Virtue alone outbuilds the Pyramids; Her monuments shall last when Egypt's fall.

Who can take Death's portrait? The tyrant never sat.