The spider's most attenuated thread Is cord, is cable, to man's tender tie On earthly bliss; it breaks at every breeze.

Heaven wills our happiness, allows our doom.

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

Pity swells the tide of love.

Wouldst thou be famed? have those high acts in view, Brave men would act though scandal would ensue.

Men should press forward, in fame's glorious chase; Nobles look backward, and so lose the race.

A God all mercy is a God unjust.