The Luxury Of Doing Good Surpasses Every

Youth's The Season Made For Joys, Love Is Then Our Duty.

Envy's A Sharper Spur Than Pay: No Author Ever Spar'd A Brother; Wits Are Gamecocks To One Another.

Why Is The Hearse With Scutcheons Blazon'd Round, And With The Nodding Plume Of Ostrich Crown'd? No; The Dead Know It Not, Nor Profit Gain; It Only Serves To Prove The Living Vain.

One Common Fate We Both Must Prove; You Die With Envy, I With Love.

Do You Think Your Mother And I Should Have Lived Comfortably So Long Together, If Ever We Had Been Married? Baggage!