The Unhappy Man, Who Once Has Trail'd

To Die Is Landing On Some Distant Shore.

Since Every Man Who Lives Is Born To Die, And None Can Boast Sincere Felicity, With Equal Mind, What Happens, Let Us Bear, Nor Joy Nor Grieve Too Much For Things Beyond Our Care. Like Pilgrims To The' Appointed Place We Tend; The World's An Inn, And Death The Journey's End.

Riches Cannot Rescue From The Grave, Which Claims Alike The Monarch And The Slave.

The Commendation Of Adversaries Is The Greatest Triumph Of A Writer, Because It Never Comes Unless Extorted.

She Feared No Danger, For She Knew No Sin.