There is nothing that is meritorious but virtue and friendship.
A generous friendship no cold medium knows, Burns with one love, with one resentment glows.
Truth needs not flowers of speech.
Virtue she finds too painful an endeavour, content to dwell in decencies for ever.
On life's vast ocean diversely we sail, Reason the card, but passion is the gale; Nor God alone in the still calm we find, He mounts the storm, and walks upon the wind.
Whether the charmer sinner it, or saint it, If folly grow romantic, I must paint it.