Old men love novelties; the last arriv'd Still pleases best; the youngest steals their smiles.

Tomorrow is a satire on today, And shows its weakness.

We see time's furrows on another's brow, And death intrench'd, preparing his assault; How few themselves in that just mirror see!

A Deity believed, is joy begun; A Deity adored, is joy advanced; A Deity beloved, is joy matured. Each branch of piety delight inspires.

And friend received with thumps upon the back.

As soon as we have found the key of life, it opens the gates of death.

Not all the pride of beauty; Those eyes, that tell us what the sun is made of; Those lips, whose touch is to be bought with life; Those hills of driven snow, which seen are felt: All these possessed are nought, but as they are The proof, the substance of an inward passion, And the rich plunder of a taken heart.