Not Heav'n itself upon the past has pow'r; But what has been, has been, and I have had my hour.
Having mourned your sin, for outward Eden lost, find paradise within.
If you are for a merry jaunt, I will try, for once, who can foot it farthest.
Love is a child that talks in broken language, yet then he speaks most plain.
Since a true knowledge of nature gives us pleasure, a lively imitation of it, either in poetry or painting, must produce a much greater; for both these arts are not only true imitations of nature, but of the best nature.
Youth, beauty, graceful action seldom fail: But common interest always will prevail; And pity never ceases to be shown To him who makes the people's wrongs his own.