'T is greatly wise to talk with our past hours, And ask them what report they bore to heaven.

And all may do what has by man been done.

The qualities all in a bee that we meet, In an epigram never should fail; The body should always be little and sweet, And a sting should be felt in its tail.

Revere thyself, and yet thyself despise

The love of praise, howe'er conceal'd by art, Reigns more or less, and glows in ev'ry heart.

Tomorrow is the day when idlers work, and fools reform and mortal men lay hold on heaven.

What most we wish, with ease we fancy near.