Those oft are stratagems which errors seem Nor is it Homer nods, but we that dream.
Fair tresses man's imperial race ensnare; And beauty draws us with a single hair.
As some to church repair, Not for the doctrine, but the music there. These equal syllables alone require, Though oft the ear the open vowels tire While expletives their feeble aid do join, And ten low words oft creep in one dull line.
The laughers are a majority.
The same ambition can destroy or save, and make a patriot as it makes a knave.
Men would be angels, angels would be gods.