Superstition Is The Spleen Of The Soul.

Hills Peep O'er Hills, And Alps On Alps Arise.

Wine Works The Heart Up, Wakes The Wit, There Is No Cure 'gainst Age But It

Unthought-of Frailties Cheat Us In The Wise.

Dulness! Whose Good Old Cause I Yet Defend, With Whom My Muse Began, With Who Shall End.

Absent Or Dead, Still Let A Friend Be Dear.