Guilt Once Harbored In The Conscious Breast,

There Are Some Works Which The Authors Must Consign Unpublished To Posterity, However Uncertain Be The Event, However Hopeless Be The Trust. He That Writes The History Of His Own Times, If He Adhere Steadily To Truth, Will Write That Which His Own Times Will Not Easily Endure. He Must Be Content To Reposite His Book Till All Private Passions Shall Cease, And Love And Hatred Give Way To Curiosity.

Ignorance, When It Is Voluntary, Is Criminal; And He May Be Properly Charged With Evil Who Refused To Learn How He Might Prevent It.

Of All The Griefs That Harass The Distress'd, Sure The Most Bitter Is A Scornful Jest; Fate Never Wounds More Deep The Generous Heart, Than When A Blockhead's Insult Points The Dart.

There Ambush Here Relentless Ruffians Lay, And Here The Fell Attorney Prowls For Prey.

His Scorn Of The Great Is Repeated Too Often To Be Real; No Man Thinks Much Of That Which He Despises.