The Loud Laugh That Spoke The Vacant

Of All Kinds Of Ambition, That Which Pursues Poetical Fame Is The Wildest

Here Let Me Sit In Sorrow For Mankind.

Elegy On The Death Of A Mad Dog And In That Town A Dog Was Found, As Many Dogs There Be, Both Mongrel, Puppy, Whelp, And Hound, And Curs Of Low Degree.

The Soul May Be Compared To A Field Of Battle, Where The Armies Are Ready Every Moment To Encounter. Not A Single Vice But Has A More Powerful Opponent, And Not One Virtue But May Be Overborne By A Combination Of Vices.

Life Has Been Compared To A Race, But The Allusion Improves By Observing, That The Most Swift Are Usually The Least Manageable And The Most Likely To Stray From The Course. Great Abilities Have Always Been Less Serviceable To The Possessors Than Moderate Ones.