Hence, in these times, untouch'd the pages lie, And slumber out their immortality.

Life's bloomy flush was lost.

To the house of a friend if you're pleased to retire, You must all things admit, you must all things admire; You must pay with observance the price of your treat, You must eat what is praised, and must praise what you eat.

Feed the musician, and he's out of tune.

He tried the luxury of doing good.

Anger makes us strong, Blind and impatient, And it leads us wrong; The strength is quickly lost; We feel the error long.

Oh how the passions, insolent and strong, Bear our weak minds their rapid course along; Make us the madness of their will obey; Then die and leave us to our griefs as prey!