We cry for mercy to the next amusement, The next amusement mortgages our fields

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

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

Horace appears in good humor while he censures, and therefore his censure has the more weight, as supposed to proceed from judgment and not from passion.

He sins against this life, who slights the next.

'T is greatly wise to talk with our past hours, And ask them what report they bore to heaven.

The melancholy ghosts of dead renown, Whispering faint echoes of the world's applause.