The best-concerted schemes men lay for fame, Die fast away: only themselves die faster. The far-fam’d sculptor, and the laurell’d bard, Those bold insurancers of deathless fame, Supply their little feeble aids in vain.

Beauty! thou pretty plaything! dear deceit, That steals so softly o’er the stripling’s heart, And gives it a new pulse unknown before!

The tap’ring pyramid, the Egyptian’s pride, And wonder of the world, whose spiky top Has wounded the thick cloud.

The common damn’d shun their society.

The good he scorn’d Stalk’d off reluctant, like an ill-us’d ghost, Not to return; or if it did, its visits Like those of angels, short, and far between.

Of joys departed, not to return, how painful the remembrance.

The grave, dread thing! Men shiver when thou’rt named: Nature appalled, Shakes off her wonted firmness.

Friendship! Mysterious cement of the soul, Sweet’ner of life, and solder of society.

Friendship! Mysterious cement of the soul, Sweet'ner of life, and solder of society.

Its visits, like those of angels, short, and far between.