And friend received with thumps upon the back.

Think naught a trifle, though it small appear; Small stands the mountain, moments make the year, and trifles life.

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

They only babble who practise not reflection

Like our shadows, our wishes lengthen as our sun declines.

Death! great proprietor of all! 'tis thine To tread out empire, and to quench the stars.

A tardy vengeance shares the tyrant's guilt.