My Thoughts And I Were Of Another

I Have No Urns, No Dusty Monuments; No Broken Images Of Ancestors, Wanting An Ear, Or Nose; No Forged Tales Of Long Descents, To Boast False Honors From.

Each Petty Hand Can Steer A Ship Becalm'd; But He That Will Govern And Carry Her To Her Ends, Must Know His Tides, His Currents, How To Shift His Sails; What She Will Bear In Foul, What In Fair Weathers; Where Her Springs Are, Her Leaks, And How To Stop 'em; What Strands, What Shelves, What Rocks Do Threaten Her.

Ambition, Like A Torrent, Ne'er Looks Back; And Is A Swelling, And The Last Affection A High Mind Can Put Off; Being Both A Rebel Unto The Soul And Reason, And Enforceth All Laws, All Conscience, Treads Upon Religion, And Offereth Violence To Nature's Self.

Nothing Is A Courtesy Unless It Be Meant Us, And That Friendly And Lovingly. We Owe No Thanks To Rivers That They Carry Our Boats, Or Winds That They Be Favoring And Fill Our Sails, Or Meats That They Be Nourishing; For These Are What They Are Necessarily. Horses Carry Us, Trees Shade Us; But They Know It Not.

Good Men But See Death, The Wicked Taste It.