What shall I do to be for ever known, And make the age to come my own?
Hope is the most hopeless thing of all.
s a scene of changes, and to be constant in Nature were inconstancy.
Sleep is a god too proud to wait in palaces, and yet so humble too as not to scorn the meanest country cottages.
Beauty, thou wild fantastic ape Who dost in every country change thy shape!
Nothing so soon the drooping spirits can raise As praises from the men, whom all men praise.