All chance, direction, which thou canst not see
I am his Highness' dog at Kew; Pray tell me, sir, whose dog are you?
Choose a firm cloud before it fall, and in it Catch, ere she change, the Cynthia of this minute.
The dances ended, all the fairy train For pinks and daisies search'd the flow'ry plain.
Passions are the gales of life.
While pensive poets painful vigils keep, Sleepless themselves, to give their readers sleep.