What you keep by you, you may change and mend but words, once spoken, can never be recalled.

Immodest words admit of no defence, For want of decency is want of sense.

I will not quarrel with a slight mistake, Such as our nature's frailty may excuse.

Beware what spirit rages in your breast; for one inspired, ten thousand are possessed.

Let us not write at a loose rambling rate, in hope the world will wink at all our faults.

The last loud trumpet's wondrous sound, Shall thro' the rending tombs rebound, And wake the nations under ground.

Words are like leaves; some wither every year, and every year a younger race succeed.