Those half-learn'd witlings, num'rous in our isle As half-form'd insects on the banks of Nile

Happy the man, whose wish and careA few paternal acres bound,Content to breathe his native airIn his own ground.

Trust not yourself; but your defects to know,Make use of ev'ry friend__nd ev'ry foe.

Where beams of imagination play,The memory's soft figures melt away.

As a species, wise, harmonious progress is our mission.

Huius (sapientis) opus unum est de divinis humanisque verum invenire; ab hac numquam recedit religio, pietas, iustitia ...