Talk what you will of taste, my friend, you'll find two of a face as soon as of a mind.

I as little fear that God will damn a man that has charity, as I hope that the priests can save one who has not.

Honor and shame from no condition rise. Act well your part: there all the honor lies.

I lisp'd in numbers, for the numbers came.

What will a child learn sooner than a song?

Fair tresses man's imperial race ensnare; And beauty draws us with a single hair.

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.