Fool, 'tis In Vain From

See! From The Brake The Whirring Pheasant Springs, And Mounts Exulting On Triumphant Wings; Short Is His Joy! He Feels The Fiery Wound, Flutters In Blood, And Panting Beats The Ground.

True Politeness Consists In Being Easy One's Self, And In Making Every One About One As Easy As One Can.

This Long Disease, My Life.

Praise From A Friend, Or Censure From A Foe, Are Lost On Hearers That Our Merits Know.

The Search Of Our Future Being Is But A Needless, Anxious, And Haste To Be Knowing, Sooner Than We Can, What, Without All This Solicitude, We Shall Know A Little Later.