Satire recoils whenever charged too high; round your own fame the fatal splinters fly.
Woes cluster. Rare are solitary woes; They love a train, they tread each other's heel.
Be wise with speed; a fool at forty is a fool indeed.
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.
Ambition! powerful source of good and ill!
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.