Even Such Is Man, Whose

Yet, Sluggard, Wake, And Gull Thy Soul No More With Earth's False Pleasures, And The World's Delight, Whose Fruit Is Fair And Pleasing To The Sight, But Sour In Taste, False As The Putrid Core: Thy Flaring Glass Is Gems At Her Half Light; She Makes Thee Seeming Rich, But Truly Poor: She Boasts A Kernel, And Bestows A Shell; Performs An Inch Of Her Fair-promis'd Ell: Her Words Protest A Heav'n; Her Works Produce A Hell.

Read Not Books Alone, But Men, And Amongst Them Chiefly Thyself. If Thou Find Anything Questionable There, Use The Commentary Of A Severe Friend, Rather Than The Gloss Of A Sweet-lipped Flatterer There Is More Profit In A Distasteful Truth Than In Deceitful Sweetness.

The Road To Perseverance Lies By Doubt.

The World Is Deceitful; Her End Is Doubtful, Her Conclusion Is Horrible, Her Judge Terrible, And Her Judgment Is Intolerable.

See, Here's A Shadow Found; The Human Nature Is Made Th' Umbrella To The Deity, To Catch The Sunbeams Of Thy Just Creator; Beneath This Covert Thou May'st Safely Lie.