Where London's column, pointing at the skies, Like a tall bully, lifts the head, and lies.

Chaos of thought and passion, all confused; Still by himself abused or disabused; Created half to rise, and half to fall; Great lord of all things, yet a prey to all; Sole judge of truth, in endless error hurled,- The glory, jest, and riddle of the world.

Some people will never learn anything, for this reason, because they understand everything too soon.

Though triumphs were to generals only due, crowns were reserved to grace the soldiers too.

For when success a lover's toil attends,Few ask, if fraud or force attain'd his ends

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

Choose a firm cloud before it fall, and in it Catch, ere she change, the Cynthia of this minute.