Nothing so true as what you once let fall, "Most Women have no Characters at all
" Matter too soft a lasting mark to bear,
And best distinguish'd by black, brown, or fair
How many pictures of one Nymph we view,
Neque sermonibus vulgi dederis te, nec in præis spem posueris rerum tuarum;suiste oportet illecebris ipsa virtus trahat ad verum decus
Quid de te alii loquantur, ipsi videant,sed loquentur tamen
(Cicero,
De Re Publica VI
But our Great Turks in wit must reign
And ill can bear a Brother on the Throne
Wit is like faith by such warm Fools
Who to be saved by one, must damn the rest
I am his Highness' dog at Kew;
Pray tell me, sir, whose dog are you
Dear, damn'd distracting town, farewell
Thy fools no more I'll tease:
This year in peace, ye critics, dwell,
Ye harlots, sleep at ease
Semichorus
Oh Tyrant Love
hast thou
The prudent, learn'd, and virtuous breast
Est brevitate opus, ut currat sententia, neu se Impediat verbis lassas onerantibus aures:
Et sermone opus est modo tristi, saepe jocoso,
Defendente vicem modo Rhetoris atque Poetae,
Interdum urbani, parcentis viribus,
Celia, we know, is sixty-five,
Yet Celia's face is seventeen;
Thus winter in her breast must live,
While summer in her face is seen
What beck'ning ghost, along the moon-light shade Invites my steps, and points to yonder glade
'Tis she
—but why that bleeding bosom gor'd, Why dimly gleams the visionary sword
Oh ever beauteous, ever friendly
Part
ON
That it is as great a fault to judge ill as to write ill, and a more dangerous one to the public
That a true Taste is as rare to be found as a true Genius
Strophe I
Ye shades, where sacred truth is sought;
Groves, where immortal Sages taught;
Where heav'nly visions of Plato fir'd,
In these deep solitudes and awful cells, Where heav'nly-pensive contemplation dwells, And ever-musing melancholy reigns; What means this tumult in a vestal's veins
Why rove my thoughts beyond this last retreat
Why feels my heart its long...