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.
Take the good the gods provide thee.
All objects lose by too familiar a view.
Never was patriot yet, but was a fool.
Among our crimes oblivion may be set.
Thus, while the mute creation downward bend Their sight, and to their earthly mother ten, Man looks aloft; and with erected eyes Beholds his own hereditary skies.