Ask Me No Questions, And I'll Tell

O Friendship! Thou Fond Soother Of The Human Breast, To Thee We Fly In Every Calamity; To Thee The Wretched Seek For Succor; On Thee The Care-tired Son Of Misery Fondly Relies; From Thy Kind Assistance The Unfortunate Always Hopes Relief, And May Be Sure Of--disappointment.

The Man Recovered Of The Bite, The Dog It Was That Died.

Fear Guides More To Their Duty Than Gratitude; For One Man Who Is Virtuous From The Love Of Virtue, From The Obligation He Thinks He Lies Under To The Giver Of All, There Are Ten Thousand Who Are Good Only From Their Apprehension Of Punishment.

What Real Good Does An Addition To A Fortune Already Sufficient Procure? Not Any. Could The Great Man, By Having His Fortune Increased, Increase Also His Appetites, Then Precedence Might Be Attended With Real Amusement.

Ill Fares The Land, To Hastening Ills A Prey, Where Wealth Accumulates, And Men Decay.