God never made his work for man to mend.
Heaven be thanked, we live in such an age, When no man dies for love, but on the stage.
For truth has such a face and such a mien, as to be loved needs only to be seen.
Pains of love be sweeter far than all other pleasures are.
Not to ask is not be denied.
One of the greatest, most noble, and most sublime poems which either this age or nation has produced.