Read nature; nature is a friend to truth.
I've known my lady (for she loves a tune) For fevers take an opera in June: And, though perhaps you'll think the practice bold, A midnight park is sov'reign for a cold.
Souls made of fire, and children of the sun, With whom revenge is virtue.
Pity swells the tide of love.
Some for renown, on scraps of learning dote, And think they grow immortal as they quote.
Why all this toil for triumphs of an hour? What tho' we wade in Wealth, or soar in Fame? Earth's highest station ends in 'Here he lies;' and 'Dust to dust' concludes the noblest songs.