Close to the Gates a spacious Garden lies, From the Storms defended and inclement Skies; Four Acres was the allotted Space of Ground, Fenc'd with a green Enclosure all around. Tall thriving Trees confessed the fruitful Mold: The reddening Apple ripens here to Gold, Here the blue Fig with luscious Juice overflows, With deeper Red the full Pomegranate glows, The Branch here bends beneath the weighty Pear, And verdant Olives flourish round the Year.

Suffering is but another name for the teaching of experience, which is the parent of instruction and the schoolmaster of life.

Whatever day Makes man a slave, takes half his worth away.

Ill fares the State where many masters rule; let one be lord, one king supreme.

We men are wretched things.

The leader, mingling with the vulgar host, Is in the common mass of matter lost.

The hearts of the great can be changed.