Tis immortality, 'tis that alone, Amid life's pains, abasements, emptiness, The soul can comfort, elevate, and fill. That only, and that amply this performs.

What ardently we wish, we soon believe.

Who, for the poor renown of being smart, Would leave a sting within a brother's heart?

Affliction is a good man's shining time.

But love, like wine, gives a tumultuous bliss, Heighten'd indeed beyond all mortal pleasures; But mingles pangs and madness in the bowl.

A prince indebted is a fortune made.

Amid my list of blessings infinite, stands this the foremost, "that my heart has bled."