Who gives an empire, by the gift defeats All end of giving; and procures contempt Instead of gratitude.

Time destroyed Is suicide, where more than blood is spilt.

Death loves a shining mark, a signal blow.

Some go to Church, proud humbly to repent, And come back much more guilty than they went: One way they look, another way they steer, Pray to the Gods; but would have Mortals hear; And when their sins they set sincerely down, They'll find that their Religion has been one.

Affliction is the good man's shining scene; prosperity conceals his brightest ray; as night to stars, woe lustre gives to man.

There is nothing of which men are more liberal than their good advice, be their stock of it ever so small; because it seems to carry in it an intimation of their own influence, importance or worth.

He sins against this life, who slights the next.