Hope springs eternal in the human breast: Man never is, but always To be Blest.

Fly, dotard, fly! With thy wise dreams and fables of the sky.

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

Who taught that heaven-directed spire to rise?

Ambition first sprung from your blest abodes: the glorious fault of angels and of gods.

"With ev'ry pleasing, ev'ry prudent part, Say, what can Chloe want?"-She wants a heart.

Blessed is the man who expects nothing, for he shall never be disappointed was the ninth beatitude.