There Is Nothing That Is Meritorious But

The Search Of Our Future Being Is But A Needless, Anxious, And Haste To Be Knowing, Sooner Than We Can, What, Without All This Solicitude, We Shall Know A Little Later.

A Generous Friendship No Cold Medium Knows, Burns With One Love, With One Resentment Glows.

Praise Undeserved, Is Satire In Disguise.

Is Pride, The Never-failing Vice Of Fools.

Say, Will The Falcon, Stooping From Above, Smit With Her Varying Plumage, Spare The Dove? Admires The Jay The Insect's Gilded Wings? Or Hears The Hawk When Philomela Sings?