The Paths Of Virtue, Though

If A Faultless Poem Could Be Produced, I Am Satisfied It Would Tire The Critics Themselves; And Annoy The Whole Reading World With The Spleen.

The Rose Is Fairest When 't Is Budding New, And Hope Is Brightest When It Dawns From Fears. The Rose Is Sweetest Wash'd With Morning Dew, And Love Is Loveliest When Embalm'd In Tears.

Mellow Nuts Have The Hardest Rind.

Sensibility Is Nature's Celestial Spring.

Like The Dew On The Mountain, Like The Foam On The River, Like The Bubble On The Fountain, Thou Art Gone, And For Ever!