Revere thyself, and yet thyself despise
Satire recoils whenever charged too high; round your own fame the fatal splinters fly.
The blood will follow where the knife is driven, The flesh will quiver where the pincers tear.
The purpose firm is equal to the deed
Early, bright, transient, chaste as morning dew, She sparkled, was exhaled, and went to heaven.
A death-bed's a detector of the heart.