Every Age Has A Kind

Such Subtle Covenants Shall Be Made,till Peace It Self Is War In Masquerade.

The Wretched Have No Friends.

No King Nor Nation One Moment Can Retard The Appointed Hour.

It Is A Madness To Make Fortune The Mistress Of Events, Because In Herself She Is Nothing, Can Rule Nothing, But Is Ruled By Prudence.

Then We Upon Our Globe's Last Verge Shall Go, And View The Ocean Leaning On The Sky: From Thence Our Rolling Neighbours We Shall Know, And On The Lunar World Securely Pry.