Farewell, Too Little, And Too Lately Known,

Jealousy Is The Jaundice Of The Soul.

Thus All Below Is Strength, And All Above Is Grace.

When The Sun Sets, Shadows, That Shew'd At Noon But Small, Appear Most Long And Terrible; So, When We Think Fate Hovers O'er Our Heads, Our Apprehensions Shoot Beyond All Bounds, Owls, Ravens, Crickets Seem The Watch Of Death, Nature's Worst Vermine Scare Her God-like Sons. Ecchoes The Very Leavings Of A Voice, Grow Babling Ghosts, And Call Us To Our Graves: Each Mole-hill Thought Swells To A Huge Olympus, While We Fantastick Dreamers Heave And Puff, And Sweat With An Imagination's Weight.

Great Wits Are Sure To Madness Near Allied, And Thin Partitions Do Their Bounds Divide.

Never Was Patriot Yet, But Was A Fool.