His love at once and dread instruct our thought; As man He suffer'd and as God He taught.

That eagle's fate and mine are one, Which, on the shaft that made him die, Espied a feather of his own, Wherewith he wont to soar so high.

Happy is she that from the world retires, and carries with her what the world admires.

The fear of Hell, or aiming to be blest, Savors too much of private interest. This moved not Moses, nor the zealous Paul, Who for their friends abandoned soul and all.

Happy the innocent whose equal thoughts are free from anguish as they are from faults.

Poets that lasting marble seek, Must come in Latin or in Greek.

How small a part of time they share, That are so wondrous sweet and fair!