Ne'er to meet, or ne'er to part, is peace.

The chamber where the good man meets his fate Is privileg'd beyond the common walk Of virtuous life, quite in the verge of heaven.

There buds the promise of celestial worth.

Who lives to Nature, rarely can be poor ; who lives to fancy, never can be rich.

A dearth of words a woman need not fear; But 'tis a task indeed to learn to hear: In that the skill of conversation lies; That shows and makes you both polite and wise.

This is the bud of being, the dim dawn, The twilight of our day, the vestibule; Life's theatre as yet is shut, and death, Strong death, alone can heave the massy bar, This gross impediment of clay remove, And make us embryos of existence free.

Thoughts shut up want air, And spoil, like bales unopen'd to the sun.