Nor all that heralds rake from coffin'd clay, Nor florid prose, nor honied lies of rhyme, Can blazon evil deeds, or consecrate a crime.

This is the patent age of new inventions for killing bodies, and for saving souls. All propagated with the best intentions.

A feast not profuse but elegant; more of salt [refinement] than of expense.

Ancient of days! august Athena! where, Where are thy men of might? thy grand in soul? Gone--glimmering through the dream of things that were; First in the race that led to glory's goal, They won, and pass'd away--Is this the whole?

I stood among them, but not of them: in a shroud of thoughts which were not their thoughts.

What is Death, so it be but glorious? 'Tis a sunset; And mortals may be happy to resemble The Gods but in decay.

Tis said that persons living on annuities Are longer lived than others.