Wit And Judgment Often Are At Strife.

A Tree Is A Nobler Object Than A Prince In His Coronation-robes.

Men Would Be Angels, Angels Would Be Gods.

Know Then This Truth, Enough For Man To Know Virtue Alone Is Happiness Below.

No Silver Saints, By Dying Misers Giv'n, Here Brib'd The Rage Of Ill-requited Heav'n; But Such Plain Roofs As Piety Could Raise, And Only Vocal With The Maker's Praise.

What Is Fame? A Fancied Life In Others' Breath.