Lo! The Poor Indian, Whose

In Lazy Apathy Let Stoics Boast, Their Virtue Fix'd: 't Is Fix'd As In A Frost; Contracted All, Retiring To The Breast; But Strength Of Mind Is Exercise, Not Rest.

Our Proper Bliss Depends On What We Blame.

Rogues In Rags Are Kept In Countenance By Rogues In Ruffles.

The Life Of A Wit Is A Warfare Upon Earth.

Old Men, For The Most Part, Are Like Old Chronicles That Give You Dull But True Accounts Of Times Past, And Are Worth Knowing Only On That Score.