But thousands die without or this or that, Die, and endow a college or a cat.

All nature is but art unknown to thee.

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

Whether the charmer sinner it, or saint it, If folly grow romantic, I must paint it.

Placed on this isthmus of a middle state.

How happy is the blameless vestal's lot? The world forgetting, by the world forgot.

Lo, what huge heaps of littleness around!