Luxury Is An Enticing Pleasure, A Bastard

We Sack, We Ransack To The Utmost Sands Of Native Kingdoms, And Of Foreign Lands: We Travel Sea And Soil; We Pry, And Prowl, We Progress, And We Prog From Pole To Pole.

The World's A Printing-house, Our Words, Our Thoughts, Our Deeds, Are Characters Of Several Sizes. Each Soul Is A Compos'tor, Of Whose Faults The Levites Are Correctors; Heaven Revises. Death Is The Common Press, From Whence Being Driven, We're Gather'd, Sheet By Sheet, And Bound For Heaven.

As All Things Eternal And Primordial Reappear, So All Things Mortal Return To The Earth. Honor, Old Age, Probity, Justice, Constance, Virtue, And Gentleness Are All Gathered Into The Cold Tomb.

God Is Alpha And Omega In The Great World: Endeavor To Make Him So In The Little World; Make Him Thy Evening Epilogue And Thy Morning Prologue; Practice To Make Him Thy Last Thought At Night When Thou Sleepest, And Thy First Thought In The Morning When Thou Awakest; So Shall Thy Fancy Be Sanctified In The Night, And Thy Understanding Rectified In The Day; So Shall Thy Rest Be Peaceful, Thy Labors Prosperous, Thy Life Pious, And Thy Death Glorious.

Necessity Of Action Takes Away The Fear Of The Act, And Makes Bold Resolution The Favorite Of Fortune.