If The Soul Be Happily Disposed, Every

But Me, Not Destined Such Delights To Share, My Prime Of Life In Wandering Spent And Care; Impell'd, With Steps Unceasing, To Pursue Some Fleeting Good, That Mocks Me With The View That, Like The Circle Bounding Earth And Skies, Allures From Far, Yet, As I Follow, Flies; My Fortune Leads To Traverse Reams Alone, And Find No Spot Of All The World My Own.

Wealth Accumulates, And Men Decay.

Both Wit And Understanding Are Trifles Without Integrity; It Is That Which Gives Value To Every Character. The Ignorant Peasant, Without Fault, Is Greater Than The Philosopher With Many; For What Is Genius Or Courage Without A Heart?

Wisdom Makes A Slow Defense Against Trouble, Though A Sure One In The End.

Good Counsel Rejected Returns To Enrich The Givers Bosom.