Ill News Is Wing'd With

Repentance Is The Virtue Of Weak Minds.

We First Make Our Habits, And Then Our Habits Make Us.

What, Start At This! When Sixty Years Have Spread. Their Grey Experience O'er Thy Hoary Head? Is This The All Observing Age Could Gain? Or Hast Thou Known The World So Long In Vain?

Like Pilgrims To Th' Appointed Place We Tend; The World's An Inn, And Death The Journey's End.

Drinking Is The Soldier's Pleasure.