So The Loud Torrent, And

Popular Glory Is A Perfect Coquette; Her Lovers Must Toil, Feel Every Inquietude, Indulge Every Caprice, And Perhaps At Last Be Jilted Into The Bargain. True Glory, On The Other Hand, Resembles A Woman Of Sense; Her Admirers Must Play No Tricks. They Feel No Great Anxiety, For They Are Sure In The End Of Being Rewarded In Proportion To Their Merit.

And Fools Who Came To Scoff Remain'd To Pray.

For Praise Too Dearly Lov'd, Or Warmly Sought, Enfeebles All Internal Strength Of Thought; And The Weak Soul Within Itself Unblest, Leans For All Pleasure On Another's Breast.

Age, That Lessens The Enjoyment Of Life, Increases Our Desire Of Living

Wit Generally Succeeds More From Being Happily Addressed Than From Its Native Poignancy. A Jest, Calculated To Spread At A Gaming-table, May Be Received With, Perfect Indifference Should It Happen To Drop In A Mackerel-boat.