Dear fatal name! rest ever unreveal'd, Nor pass these lips in holy silence seal'd. Hide it, my heart, within that close disguise, Where mixed with Gods, his lov'd idea lies: O write it not, my hand - the name appears Already written - wash it out, my tears! In vain lost Eloisa weeps and prays, Her heart still dictates, and her hand obeyes.

But thinks, admitted to that equal sky, His faithful dog shall bear him company.

Now warm in love, now with'ring in my bloom Lost in a convent's solitary gloom!

He best can paint them who shall feel them most.

The vanity of human life is like a river, constantly passing away, and yet constantly coming on.

A brain of feathers, and a heart of lead.

Bear, like the Turk, no brother near the throne.