A Field Of Glory Is

Some Place The Bliss In Action, Some In Ease, Those Call It Pleasure, And Contentment These.

Men Would Be Angels, Angels Would Be Gods.

The Difference Is As Great Between The Optics Seeing As The Objects Seen. All Manners Take A Tincture From Our Own; Or Come Discolor'd Through Out Passions Shown; Or Fancy's Beam Enlarges, Multiplies, Contracts, Inverts, And Gives Ten Thousand Dyes.

Nothing Is More Certain Than Much Of The Force; As Well As Grace, Of Arguments Or Instructions Depends Their Conciseness.

There Should Be, Methinks, As Little Merit In Loving A Woman For Her Beauty As In Loving A Man For His Prosperity; Both Being Equally Subject To Change.