Sense is our helmet, wit is but the plume; The plume exposes, 'tis our helmet saves. Sense is the diamond, weighty, solid, sound; When cut by wit, it casts a brighter beam; Yet, wit apart, it is a diamond still.

Be wise to-day; 't is madness to defer.

We wish our names eternally to live; Wild dream! which ne'er had haunted human thought, Had not our natures been eternal too.

The house of laughter makes a house of woe.

By night an atheist half-believes in God.

To frown at pleasure, and to smile in pain.

Polite diseases make some idiots vain, Which, if unfortunately well, they feign.