If with me you'd fondly stray Over the hills and far away.
One common fate we both must prove; You die with envy, I with love.
Music might tame and civilize wild beasts, but 'tis evident it never yet could tame and civilize musicians.
Who hath not heard the rich complain Of surfeits, and corporeal pain? He barr'd from every use of wealth, Envies the ploughman's strength and health.
'T is woman that seduces all mankind; By her we first were taught the wheedling arts.
I hate the man who builds his name On ruins of another's fame. Thus prudes, by characters o'erthrown, Imagine that they raise their own. Thus Scribblers, covetous of praise, Think slander can transplant the bays.