Pity melts the mind to love.
Her wit was more than man, her innocence a child.
What, start at this! when sixty years have spread. Their grey experience o'er thy hoary head? Is this the all observing age could gain? Or hast thou known the world so long in vain?
Set all things in their own peculiar place, and know that order is the greatest grace.
Many things impossible to thought have been by need to full perfection brought.
Welcome, thou kind deceiver! Thou best of thieves; who, with an easy key, Dost open life, and, unperceived by us, Even steal us from ourselves.