A soul without reflection, like a pile Without inhabitant, to ruin runs.

They only babble who practise not reflection.

A soul without reflection, like a pile Without inhabitant, to ruin runs.

Men may live fools, but fools they cannot die.

Some for renown, on scraps of learning dote, And think they grow immortal as they quote.

For her own breakfast she'll project a scheme,
Nor take her tea without a strategem.