Strength of mind is exercise, not rest.
On life's vast ocean diversely we sail. Reasons the card, but passion the gale.
What woeful stuff this madrigal would be, In some starved hackney sonneteer, or me! But let a lord once own the happy lines, How the wit brightens! how the style refines!
Sure of their qualities and demanding praise, more go to ruined fortunes than are raised.
Bear, like the Turk, no brother near the throne.
A youth of frolic, an old age of cards.