A naked lover bound and bleeding lies!
Where London’s column, pointing at the skies, Like a tall bully, lifts the head, and lies.
For thee I dim these eye and stuff this head With all such reading as was never read.
Condition, circumstance, is not the thing; Bliss is the same in subject or in king.
Oft, as in airy rings they skim the heath, The clamtrous lapwings feel the leaden death; Oft, as the mounting larks their notes prepare They fall, and leave their little lives in air.
It is not so much the being exempt from faults, as having overcome them, that is an advantage to us.
How do we know that we have a right to kill creatures that we are so little above, as dogs, for our curiosity or even for some use to us?
Let sinful bachelors their woes deplore; full well they merit all they feel, and more: unaw by precepts, human or divine, like birds and beasts, promiscuously they join.
In lazy apathy let stoics boast, their virtue fixed, ’tis fixed as in a frost.
Eye Nature’s walks, shoot folly as it flies, And catch the manners living as they rise; Laugh where we must, be candid where we can, But vindicate the ways of God to man.
Speed the soft intercourse from soul to soul, And waft a sigh from Indus to the Pole.
Genuine religion is not so much a matter of feeling as a matter of principle.
Chaste to her husband, frank to all beside, A teeming mistress, but a barren bride.
She who ne’er answers till a husband cools, Or, if she rules him, never shows she rules; Charms by accepting, by submitting, sways, Yet has her humor most, when she obeys.
Is not absence death to those who love?
No, make me mistress to the man I love; If there be yet another name more free More fond than mistress, make me that to thee!
In men, we various ruling passions find; In women, two almost divide the kind Those, only fixed, they first or last obey, The love of pleasure, and the love of sway.
Now warm in love, now with’ring in my bloom Lost in a convent’s solitary gloom!
The world forgetting, by the world forgot. Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind! Each pray’r accepted, and each wish resign’d.
Those oft are stratagems which errors seem Nor is it Homer nods, but we that dream;.