Nobody With Me At Sea But Myself.

Aromatic Plants Bestow No Spicy Fragrance While They Grow; But Crush'd Or Trodden To The Ground, Diffuse Their Balmy Sweets Around.

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.

Popular Glory Is A Perfect Coquette; Her Lovers Must Toil, Feel Every Inquietude, Indulge Every Caprice, And Perhaps At Last Be Jilted Into The Bargain. True Glory, On The Other Hand, Resembles A Woman Of Sense; Her Admirers Must Play No Tricks. They Feel No Great Anxiety, For They Are Sure In The End Of Being Rewarded In Proportion To Their Merit.

To Aim At Excellence, Our Reputation, And Friends, And All Must Be Ventured; To Aim At The Average We Run No Risk And Provide Little Service.

One Man Is Born With A Silver Spoon In His Mouth, And The Other With A Wooden Ladle.