For mysterious things of faith, rely on the proponent, Heaven's authority.
And plenty makes us poor.
Youth, beauty, graceful action seldom fail: But common interest always will prevail; And pity never ceases to be shown To him who makes the people's wrongs his own.
Ill habits gather unseen degrees, as brooks make rivers, rivers run to seas.
There is a proud modesty in merit.
Deathless laurel is the victor's due.