Every Language Is So Full Of Its

When A Man's Life Is Under Debate, The Judge Can Ne'er Too Long Deliberate.

A Happy Genius Is The Gift Of Nature.

Pity Only On Fresh Objects Stays, But With The Tedious Sight Of Woes Decays.

Fortune, That With Malicious Joydoes Man Her Slave Oppress,proud Of Her Office To Destroy,is Seldom Pleasd To Bless.

Of No Distemper, Of No Blast He Died, But Fell Like Autumn Fruit That Mellow'd Long: Even Wonder'd At, Because He Dropp'd No Sooner. Fate Seem'd To Wind Him Up For Fourscore Years; Yet Freshly Ran He On Ten Winters More; Till Like A Clock Worn Out With Eating Time, The Wheels Of Weary Life At Last Stood Still.