With spots quadrangular of diamond form, ensanguined hearts, clubs typical of strife, and spades, the emblems of untimely graves.

The art of poetry is to touch the passions, and its duty to lead them on the side of virtue.

In a fleshly tomb, I am buried above ground.

Reasoning at every step he treads, Man yet mistakes his way, Whilst meaner things, whom instinct leads, Are rarely known to stray.

Sends Nature forth the daughter of the skies... To dance on earth, and charm all human eyes.

'Tis liberty alone that gives the flower Of fleeting life its lustre and perfume; And we are weeds without it.

Ceremony leads her bigots forth, prepared to fight for shadows of no worth. While truths, on which eternal things depend, can hardly find a single friend.