There Is Not So Variable

Who Rant By Note, And Through The Gamut Rage; In Songs And Airs Express Their Martial Fire; Combat In Trills, And In A Fugue Expire.

What An Absurd Thing It Is To Pass Over All The Valuable Parts Of A Man, And Fix Our Attention On His Infirmities.

I Have Somewhere Met With The Epitaph On A Charitable Man Which Has Pleased Me Very Much. I Cannot Recollect The Words, But Here Is The Sense Of It: 'what I Spent I Lost; What I Possessed Is Left To Others; What I Gave Away Remains With Me.'

Others Proclaim The Infirmities Of A Great Man With Satisfaction And Complacence, If They Discover None Of The Like In Themselves.

E'en The Rough Rocks With Tender Myrtle Bloom, And Trodden Weeds Send Out A Rich Perfume.