When Misfortune Is Asleep, Let No One

He Is A Perpetual Fountain Of Good Sense.

How Happy The Lover, How Easy His Chain, How Pleasing His Pain, How Sweet To Discover He Sighs Not In Vain.

Beauty, Like Ice, Our Footing Does Betray; Who Can Tread Sure On The Smooth, Slippery Way: Pleased With The Surface, We Glide Swiftly On, And See The Dangers That We Cannot Shun.

All Things Are Subject To Decay And When Fate Summons, Monarchs Must Obey.

Heroic Poetry Has Ever Been Esteemed The Greatest Work Of Human Nature.