Abstruse and mystic thoughts you must express With painful care, but seeming easiness; For truth shines brightest thro' the plainest dress.

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

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

The multitude is always wrong.

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

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

Our heroes of the former days deserved and gained their never-fading bays.