With fame, in just proportion, envy grows.

Man maketh a death which Nature never made.

Amid my list of blessings infinite, stands this the foremost, "that my heart has bled."

Each moment has its sickle, emulous Of Time's enormous scythe, whose ample sweep Strikes empires from the root.

At thirty, man suspects himself a fool; Knows it at forty, and reforms his plan.

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.

In chambers deep, Where waters sleep, What unknown treasures pave the floor.