The seas are quiet when the winds give o'er; So calm are we when passions are no more!
Others may use the ocean as their road; Only the English make it their abode.
The lark that shuns on lofty boughs to build, Her humble nest, lies silent in the field.
With wisdom fraught; not such as books, but such as practice taught.
Virtue's a stronger guard than brass.
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.