I find myself hoping a total end of all the unhappy divisions of mankind by party-spirit, which at best is but the madness of many for the gain of a few.

Those oft are stratagems which errors seem Nor is it Homer nods, but we that dream.

Aurora now, fair daughter of the dawn, Sprinkled with rosy light the dewy lawn.

The Dying Christian to His Soul (1712) -Vital spark of heav'nly flame! Quit, oh quit, this mortal frame: Trembling, hoping, ling'ring, flying, Oh the pain, the bliss of dying! Stanza 1.

There should be, methinks, as little merit in loving a woman for her beauty as in loving a man for his prosperity; both being equally subject to change.

Nay, fly to altars; there they'll talk you dead; For fools rush in where angels fear to tread.

By flatterers besieged And so obliging that he ne'er obliged.