Death loves a shining mark, a signal blow.

Horace appears in good humor while he censures, and therefore his censure has the more weight, as supposed to proceed from judgment and not from passion.

Praise, more divine than prayer; prayer points our ready path to heaven; praise is already there.

The blood will follow where the knife is driven, The flesh will quiver where the pincers tear.

Creation sleeps! 'T is as the general pulse Of life stood still, and Nature made a pause,- An awful pause! prophetic of her end.

Heaven wills our happiness, allows our doom.

Our birth is nothing but our death begun; As tapers waste, that instant they take fire.