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!
'T was good advice, and meant, my son, Be good.
A master passion is the love of news.
Hence, in these times, untouch'd the pages lie, And slumber out their immortality.
Feed the musician, and he's out of tune.
Let's learn to live, for we must die alone.