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

Read nature; nature is a friend to truth.

In chambers deep, Where waters sleep, What unknown treasures pave the floor.

Youth is not rich in time; it may be poor; Part with it as with money, sparing; pay No moment but in purchase of its worth, And what it's worth, ask death-beds; they can tell.

O let me be undone the common way, And have the common comfort to be pity'd, And not be ruin'd in the mask of bliss, And so be envy'd, and be wretched too!

In youth, what disappointments of our own making: in age, what disappointments from the nature of things.

Wonder is involuntary praise.