These Riches Are Possess'd, But Not Enjoy'd!

To The Elysian Shades Dismiss My Soul, Where No Carnation Fades.

But Just Disease To Luxury Succeeds, And Ev'ry Death Its Own Avenger Breeds.

Great Oaks Grow From Little Acorns. He Has A Green Thumb. He Has Green Fingers. He's Sowing His Wild Oats. Here Ceres' Gifts In Waving Prospect Stand, And Nodding Tempt The Joyful Reaper's Hand.

Every Professional Was Once An Amateur.

The Time Shall Come, When, Free As Seas Or Wind, Unbounded Thames Shall Flow For All Mankind, Whole Nations Enter With Each Swelling Tide, And Seas But Join The Regions They Divide; Earth's Distant Ends Our Glory Shall Behold, And The New World Launch Forth To Seek The Old.