At Every Trifle Take Offense, That Always

And Little Eagles Wave Their Wings In Gold.

A Perfect Judge Will Read Each Work Of Wit With The Same Spirit That Its Author Writ: Survey The Whole, Nor Seek Slight Faults To Find Where Nature Moves, And Rapture Warms The Mind.

Pleasures Are Ever In Our Hands Or Eyes; And When In Act They Cease, In Prospect Rise.

Death, Only Death, Can Break The Lasting Chain; And Here, Ev'n Then, Shall My Cold Dust Remain

There Should Be, Methinks, As Little Merit In Loving A Woman For Her Beauty As In Loving A Man For His Prosperity; Both Being Equally Subject To Change.