And Not A Vanity Is Given In

Worth Makes The Man, And Want Of It The Fellow; The Rest Is All But Leather And Prunello.

There Is Nothing That Is Meritorious But Virtue And Friendship.

Absent Or Dead, Still Let A Friend Be Dear.

In Pride, In Reas'ning Pride, Our Error Lies; All Quit Their Sphere And Rush Into The Skies. Pride Still Is Aiming At The Bless'd Abodes, Men Would Be Angels, Angels Would Be Gods.

And Each Blasphemer Quite Escape The Rod, Because The Insult's Not On Man, But God?