Of boasting more than of a bomb afraid, A soldier should be modest as a maid.
Men should press forward, in fame’s glorious chase; Nobles look backward, and so lose the race.
The man who builds, and wants wherewith to pay, Provides a home from which to run away.
Who, for the poor renown of being smart, Would leave a sting within a brother’s heart?
O! lost to virtue, lost to manly thought, Lost to the noble sallies of the soul! Who think it solitude to be alone.
They most the world enjoy who least admire.
Ne’er to meet, or ne’er to part, is peace.
As in smooth oil the razor best is whet, So wit is by politeness sharpest set; Their want of edge from their offence is seen, Both pain us least when exquisitely keen.
Heaven’s Sovereign saves all beings but himselfThat hideous sight,-a naked human heart.
Whose yesterdays look backwards with a smile.
One eye on death, and one full fix’d on heaven.
A God alone can comprehend a God.
A Deity believed, is joy begun; A Deity adored, is joy advanced; A Deity beloved, is joy matured. Each branch of piety delight inspires.
Some go to Church, proud humbly to repent, And come back much more guilty than they went: One way they look, another way they steer, Pray to the Gods; but would have Mortals hear; And when their sins they set sincerely down, They’ll find that their Religion has been one.
O let me be undone the common way, And have the common comfort to be pity’d, And not be ruin’d in the mask of bliss, And so be envy’d, and be wretched too!
When men of infamy to grandeur soar, They light a torch to show their shame the more.
Youth is not rich in time; it may be poor; Part with it as with money, sparing; pay No moment but in purchase of its worth, And what it’s worth, ask death-beds; they can tell.
Some wits, too, like oracles, deal in ambiguities, but not with equal success; for though ambiguities are the first excellence of an imposter, they are the last of a wit.
A tardy vengeance shares the tyrant’s guilt.
The bell strikes One. We take no note of time But from its loss. To give it then a tongue Is wise in man. As if an angel spoke, I feel the solemn sound. If heard aright, It is the knell of my departed hours.