The watch-dog's voice that bay'd the whispering wind, And the loud laugh that spoke the vacant mind.

You can preach a better sermon with your life than with your lips.

Pity and friendship are two passions incompatible with each other.

Popular glory is a perfect coquette; her lovers must toil, feel every inquietude, indulge every caprice, and perhaps at last be jilted into the bargain. True glory, on the other hand, resembles a woman of sense; her admirers must play no tricks. They feel no great anxiety, for they are sure in the end of being rewarded in proportion to their merit.

Her modest looks the cottage might adorn, Sweet as the primrose peeps beneath the thorn.

Wept o'er his wounds, or tales of sorrow done, Shoulder'd his crutch, and shew'd how fields were won.

A man he was to all the country dear, And passing rich with forty pounds a year.