An Hour Will Come, With Pleasure To

What Judgment I Had Increases Rather Than Diminishes; And Thoughts, Such As They Are, Come Crowding In So Fast Upon Me, That My Only Difficulty Is To Choose Or Reject; To Run Them Into Verse Or To Give Them The Other Harmony Of Prose.

Death Ends Our Woes, And The Kind Grave Shuts Up The Mournful Scene.

Thou Strong Seducer, Opportunity!

Order Is The Greatest Grace.

There's A Proud Modesty In Merit; Averse From Asking, And Resolved To Pay Ten Times The Gifts It Asks.