Virtue Which Shuns, The Day.

How Beautiful Is Death, When Earn'd By Virtue!

Music, Among Those Who Were Styled The Chosen People, Was A Religious Art.

There Is A Kind Of Grandeur And Respect Which The Meanest And Most Insignificant Part Of Mankind Endeavor To Procure In The Little Circle Of Their Friends And Acquaintance. The Poorest Mechanic, Nay, The Man Who Lives Upon Common Alms, Gets Him His Set Of Admirers, And Delights In That Superiority Which He Enjoys Over Those Who Are In Some Respects Beneath Him. This Ambition, Which Is Natural To The Soul Of Man, Might, Methinks, Receive A Very Happy Turn; And, If It Were Rightly Directed, Contribute As Much To A Person's Advantage, As It Generally Does To His Uneasiness And Disquiet.

Troops Of Heroes Undistinguished Die.

Nothing Lies On Our Hands With Such Uneasiness As Time. Wretched And Thoughtless Creatures! In The Only Place Where Covetousness Were A Virtue We Turn Prodigals.