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.

Night, sable goddess! from her ebon throne, In rayless majesty, now stretches forth Her leaden sceptre o'er a slumbering world.

A foe to God ne'er was true friend to man, Some sinister intent taints all he does.

To know the world, not love her, is thy point; She gives but little, nor that little, long.

Tomorrow is the day when idlers work, and fools reform and mortal men lay hold on heaven.

Old men love novelties; the last arriv'd Still pleases best; the youngest steals their smiles.

Revere thyself, and yet thyself despise