As To Posterity, I May

Where Ignorance Is Bliss, 'tis Folly To Be Wise.

Can Storied Urn, Or Animated Bust Back To Its Mansion Call The Fleeting Breath? Can Honour's Voice Provoke The Silent Dust, Or Flatt'ry Soothe The Dull Cold Ear Of Death?

Poetry Is Thoughts That Breathe, And Words That Burn.

The Still Small Voice Of Gratitude.

Commerce Changes Entirely The Fate And Genius Of Nations, By Communicating Arts And Opinions, Circulating Money, And Introducing The Materials Of Luxury; She First Opens And Polishes The Mind, Then Corrupts And Enervates Both That And The Body.