Gods, that never change their state, vary oft their love and hate.
Happy the innocent whose equal thoughts are free from anguish as they are from faults.
A narrow compass! and yet there Dwelt all that 's good, and all that 's fair; Give me but what this riband bound, Take all the rest the sun goes round.
All human things Of dearest value hang on slender strings.
Others may use the ocean as their road; Only the English make it their abode.
Give us enough but with a sparing hand.