Go miser go, for money sell your soul. Trade wares for wares and trudge from pole to pole, So others may say when you are dead and gone. See what a vast estate he left his son.

Great wits are sure to madness near allied, and thin partitions do their bounds divide.

Nor is the people's judgment always true: the most may err as grossly as the few.

No king nor nation one moment can retard the appointed hour.

To so perverse a sex all grace is vain.

The scum that rises upmost, when the nation boils.

Death in itself is nothing; but we fear to be we know not what, we know not where.