From Harmony, from heav'nly Harmony. This universal Frame began.

Fortune's unjust; she ruins oft the brave, and him who should be victor, makes the slave.

When he spoke, what tender words he used! So softly, that like flakes of feathered snow, They melted as they fell.

Fame then was cheap, and the first comer sped; And they have kept it since by being dead.

What, start at this! when sixty years have spread. Their grey experience o'er thy hoary head? Is this the all observing age could gain? Or hast thou known the world so long in vain?

He is a perpetual fountain of good sense.

Politicians neither love nor hate.