Authors, Like Coins, Grow Dear As They

Who Dies In Youth And Vigour, Dies The Best.

Where Beams Of Imagination Play, The Memory's Soft Figures Melt Away.

Eve Left Adam, To Meet The Devil In Private.

To What Base Ends, And By What Abject Ways, Are Mortals Urg'd Through Sacred Lust Of Praise!

Man Never Thinks Himself Happy, But When He Enjoys Those Things Which Others Want Or Desire.