Desire Of Greatness Is A Godlike Sin.

To Die Is Landing On Some Distant Shore.

None Would Live Past Years Again, Yet All Hope Pleasure In What Yet Remain; And, From The Dregs Of Life, Think To Receive, What The First Sprightly Running Could Not Give.

And That One Hunting, Which The Devil Design'd For One Fair Female, Lost Him Half The Kind.

Virgil Is So Exact In Every Word, That None Can Be Changed But For A Worse; Nor Any One Removed From Its Place, But The Harmony Will Be Altered. He Pretends Sometimes To Trip; But It Is Only To Make You Think Him In Danger Of A Fall, When He Is Most Secure.

Be Fair, Or Foul, Or Rain, Or Shine, The Joys I Have Possessed, In Spite Of Fate, Are Mine. Not Heaven Itself Upon The Past Has Power; But What Has Been, Has Been, And I Have Had My Hour.