Upon serious reflection, it will not appear wonderful these are so few, for notwithstanding the road of hypocrisy is the shortest a man can pursue, to arrive at the temple of Fortune; still we rarely see men endued with a sufficient degree of perseverance, to engage in so laborious an undertaking; for conceive the practice of virtue to be ever so arduous, the pursuit of the feigned, is much more painful than that of the true. In order to carry it on, there is need of a constant studiousness, joined to a continual anxiety, and also an indefatigable watchfulness, to suppress the sallies of the soul, which without intermission is making efforts to disclose herself. There is no passion, which, like a wild beast chained, strives more forcibly to break its confinement, than that of dissimulation. The animal faculty of the heart is as plainly reflected on the countenance, as the vital is manifested in the artery. The tokens of their internal movements, may be compared to those of a clock, which has a bell that proclaims them, and a hand that points them out. There is not a word, nor an action, if not restrained by a contrary impetus, which would not follow the impulse of that animated machine. Curiosity and lust, importune and tempt a man’s eyes by turns; he is anxious to give vent to his bosom by his voice, and his brow manifests his impatience to do it; a pleasant jest provokes to laughter; an injury calls for vengeance; and the tongue and the ear are averse to silence. There is not a member which is not put under painful restrictions, nor a faculty that is not constrained, by being thus compelled to wear the forced appearance of composure. The strings, of which the harmony of an exterior modesty are composed, are infinite, and ought always to be kept violently on the stretch; the desires also of possessing beloved objects, are continually tapping at the doors of the senses. What force is sufficient to resist so many impulses? or what address, equal to managing so many reins at a time?