A Deity believed, is joy begun; A Deity adored, is joy advanced; A Deity beloved, is joy matured. Each branch of piety delight inspires.

The love of praise, howe'er conceal'd by art, Reigns more or less, and glows in ev'ry heart.

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

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

Nature delights in progress; in advance.

What is revenge but courage to call in our honor's debts, and wisdom to convert others' self-love into our own protection?

Blest leisure is our curse; like that of Cain, It, makes us wander, wander earth around, To fly that tyrant Thought. As Atlas groan'd The world beneath, we groan beneath an hour.