So the false spider, when her nets are spread, deep ambushed in her silent den does lie.
She feared no danger, for she knew no sin.
Happy the man, and happy he alone, he, who can call today his own.
Three poets, in three distant ages born, Greece, Italy, and England did adorn. The first in loftiness of thought surpass'd; The next, in majesty; in both the last. The force of Nature could no further go; To make a third, she join'd the former two.
Dancing is the poetry of the foot.
I never saw any good that came of telling truth.