Nature delights in progress; in advance.
When pain can't bless, heaven quits us in despair.
Groan under gold, yet weep for want of bread.
O! lost to virtue, lost to manly thought, Lost to the noble sallies of the soul! Who think it solitude to be alone.
Wishing of all employments is the worst
Wouldst thou be famed? have those high acts in view, Brave men would act though scandal would ensue.