Everything Is Beautiful In Its

My Mother Groaned, My Father Wept, Into The Dangerous World I Leapt.

Man Has Closed Himself Up, Till He Sees All Things Thro' Narrow Chinks Of His Cavern.

And Is He Honest Who Resists His Genius Or Conscience Only For The Sake Of Present Ease Or Gratification

Man Was Made For Joy And Woe, And When This We Rightly Know Through The World We Safely Go. Joy And Woe Are Woven Fine, A Clothing For The Soul To Bind.

Commerce Is So Far From Being Beneficial To Arts, Or To Empire, That It Is Destructive Of Both, As All Their History Shows, For The Above Reason Of Individual Merit Being Its Great Hatred. Empires Flourish Till They Become Commercial, And Then They Are Scattered Abroad To The Four Winds.