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.
Virtue's a stronger guard than brass.
Tea does our fancy aid, Repress those vapours which the head invade And keeps that palace of the soul serene.
If its length be not considered a merit, it hath no other.
Poets that lasting marble seek, Must come in Latin or in Greek.
Happy the innocent whose equal thoughts are free from anguish as they are from faults.