Beauties in vain their pretty eyes may roll; charms strike the sight, but merit wins the soul.
The race by vigour, not by vaunts, is won.
Hope springs eternal in the human breast: Man never is, but always To be Blest.
And write about it, Goddess, and about it!
Dear, damned, distracting town, farewell! Thy fools no more I'll tease: This year in peace, ye critics, dwell, Ye harlots, sleep at ease!
The season when to come, and when to go, to sing, or cease to sing, we never know.