I See No Virtue Where I Smell

The Grave Is Sooner Cloy'd Than Men's Desire.

The World's A Printing-house, Our Words, Our Thoughts, Our Deeds, Are Characters Of Several Sizes. Each Soul Is A Compos'tor, Of Whose Faults The Levites Are Correctors; Heaven Revises. Death Is The Common Press, From Whence Being Driven, We're Gather'd, Sheet By Sheet, And Bound For Heaven.

Afflictions Clarify The Soul; And Like Hard Masters, Give More Hard Directions, Tutoring The Non-age Of Uncurbed Affections.

They Who Cannot Be Induced To Fear For Love Will Never Be Enforced To Love For Fear. Love Opens The Heart, Fear Shuts It; That Encourages, This Compels; And Victory Meets Encouragement, But Flees Compulsion.

Hath Fortune Dealt Thee Ill Cards? Let Wisdom Make Thee A Good Gamester. In A Fair Gale, Every Fool May Sail, But Wise Behavior In A Storm Commends The Wisdom Of A Pilot; To Bear Adversity With An Equal Mind Is Both The Sign And Glory Of A Brave Spirit.