From vulgar bounds with brave disorder part, And snatch a grace beyond the reach of art.

Pleased to the last, he crops the flowery food, And licks the hand just raised to shed his blood.

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

Oh! be thou blest with all that Heaven can send, Long health, long youth, long pleasure-and a friend.

To be angry is to revenge the faults of others on ourselves.

Drink is the feast of reason and the flow of soul.

Envy will merit, as its shade, pursue