Art Indeed Is Long, But Life Is

The Grave's A Fine And Private Place, But None, I Think, Do There Embrace.

How Vainly Men Themselves Amaze To Win The Palm, The Oak, Or Bays; And Their Uncessant Labours See Crown'd From Some Single Herb Or Tree. Whose Short And Narrow Verged Shade Does Prudently Their Toils Upbraid; While All Flow'rs And All Trees Do Close To Weave The Garlands Of Repose.

Among The Blind The One-eyed Blinkard Reigns

Ye Country Comets, That Portend No War, Nor Prince's Funeral, Shining Unto No Higher End Than To Presage The Grasses Fall. . . .

Self-preservation, Nature's First Great Law, All The Creatures, Except Man, Doth Awe.