Oh how the passions, insolent and strong, Bear our weak minds their rapid course along; Make us the madness of their will obey; Then die and leave us to our griefs as prey!
The game is never lost till won.
Dreams are like portraits; and we find they please because they are confessed resemblances.
'T was good advice, and meant, my son, Be good.
A master passion is the love of news.
Her air, her manners, all who saw admir'd; Courteous though coy, and gentle though retir'd; The joy of youth and health her eyes display'd, And ease of heart her every look convey'd.