Vice is a monster of so frightful mien, As to be hated needs but to be seen; Yet seen too oft, familiar with her face, we first endure, then pity, then embrace |
Where'er you walk, cool glades shall fan the glade / Trees, where you sit, shall crowd into a shade: / Where'er you tread, the blusing flow'rs shall rise, / And all things flourish where you turn your eyes. |
While pensive poets painful vigils keep - Sleepless themselves to give their readers sleep |
Whoever thinks a faultless piece to see, Thinks what ne'er was, nor is, nor e'er shall be. |
Wit is the lowest form of humor. |