Almost Every Man Wastes Part

It Is Dangerous For Mortal Beauty, Or Terrestrial Virtue, To Be Examined By Too Strong A Light. The Torch Of Truth Shows Much That We Cannot, And All That We Would Not, See.

Yet Reason Frowns In War's Unequal Game, Where Wasted Nations Raise A Single Name; And Mortgag'd States Their Grandsire's Wreaths Regret, From Age To Age In Everlasting Debt; Wreaths Which At Last The Dear-bought Right Convey To Rust On Medals, Or On Stones Decay.

Where No Man Thinks Himself Under Any Obligation To Submit To Another, And, Instead Of Co-operating In One Great Scheme, Every One Hastens Through By-paths To Private Profit, No Great Change Can Suddenly Be Made; Nor Is Superior Knowledge Of Much Effect, Where Every Man Resolves To Use His Own Eyes And His Own Judgment, And Every One Applauds His Own Dexterity And Diligence, In Proportion As He Becomes Rich Sooner Than His Neighbour.

Nature Makes Us Poor Only When We Want Necessaries, But Custom Gives The Name Of Poverty To The Want Of Superfluities.

There Are In Every Age New Errors To Be Rectified And New Prejudices To Be Opposed.