Art Indeed Is Long, But

Though I Carry Always Some Ill-nature About Me, Yet It Is, I Hope, No More Than Is In This World Necessary For A Preservative.

The Grave's A Fine And Private Place, But None, I Think, Do There Embrace.

And Yonder All Before Us Lie Deserts Of Vast Eternity.

But At My Back I Always Hear Time's Winged Chariot Hurrying Near.

Self-preservation, Nature's First Great Law, All The Creatures, Except Man, Doth Awe.