The Common Damn'd Shun Their Society.

Industry Is Not Only The Instrument Of Improvement, But The Foundation Of Pleasure. He Who Is A Stranger To It May Possess, But Cannot Enjoy, For It Is Labor Only Which Gives Relish To Pleasure. It Is The Indispensable Condition Of Possessing A Sound Mind In A Sound Body, And It Is The Appointed Vehicle Of Every Good To Man.

The Good He Scorn'd Stalk'd Off Reluctant, Like An Ill-us'd Ghost, Not To Return; Or If It Did, Its Visits Like Those Of Angels, Short, And Far Between.

But If There Be An Hereafter,and That There Is, Conscience, Uninfluenc'dand Suffer'd To Speak Out, Tells Every Man,then Must It Be An Awful Thing To Die;more Horrid Yet To Die By One's Own Hand.

Friendship! Mysterious Cement Of The Soul, Sweet'ner Of Life, And Solder Of Society.

The Grave, Dread Thing! Men Shiver When Thou'rt Named: Nature Appalled, Shakes Off Her Wonted Firmness.