Beauty draws us with a single hair.
Death, only death, can break the lasting chain; And here, ev'n then, shall my cold dust remain
In death a hero, as in life a friend!
I lisp'd in numbers, for the numbers came.
True Wit is Nature to advantage dress'd What oft was thought, but ne'er so well express'd; Something whose truth convinced at sight we find, That gives us back the image of our mind. As shades more sweetly recommend the light, So modest plainness sets off sprightly wit.
And all who told it added something new, and all who heard it, made enlargements too.