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

Why all this toil for triumphs of an hour? What tho' we wade in Wealth, or soar in Fame? Earth's highest station ends in 'Here he lies;' and 'Dust to dust' concludes the noblest songs.

Let no man trust the first false step of guilt; it hangs upon a precipice, whose steep descent in last perdition ends.

Ne'er to meet, or ne'er to part, is peace.

The soul of man was made to walk the skies.

Inhumanity is caught from man, From smiling man.

But fate ordains that dearest friends must part.