Folly Often Goes Beyond Her Bounds, But

Nor Use Too Swelling, Or Ill-sounded Words . . . .

I Have No Urns, No Dusty Monuments; No Broken Images Of Ancestors, Wanting An Ear, Or Nose; No Forged Tales Of Long Descents, To Boast False Honors From.

Books Are Faithful Repositories, Which May Be Awhile Neglected Or Forgotten, But When They Are Opened Again, Will Again Impart Their Instruction.

True Gladness Doth Not Always Speak; Joy, Bred And Born But In The Tongue, Is Weak.

Many Might Go To Heaven With Half The Labour They Go To Hell, If They Would Venture Their Industry The Right Way.