Can love be controll'd by advice?
She who has never lov'd, has never liv'd.
Here Shock, the pride of all his kind, is laid, Who fawned like man, but ne'er like man betrayed.
Give me, kind heaven, a private station, a mind serene for contemplation.
Why is the hearse with scutcheons blazon'd round, And with the nodding plume of ostrich crown'd? No; the dead know it not, nor profit gain; It only serves to prove the living vain.
A Wolf eats sheep but now and then; Ten thousands are devour'd by men. An open foe may prove a curse, but a pretend friend is worse.