His rod revers'd, And backward mutters of dissevering power.

A boundless continent, Dark, waste, and wild, under the frown of night Starless expos'd.

True it is that covetousness is rich, modesty starves.

All hope is lost of my reception into grace; what worse? For where no hope is left, is left no fear.

How sweetly did they float upon the wings Of silence through the empty-vaulted night, At every fall smoothing the raven down Of darkness till it smiled!

Beauty is nature's brag, and must be shown in courts, at feasts, and high solemnities, where most may wonder at the workmanship.

Wealth and honours, which most men pursue, easily change masters; they desert to the side which excels in virtue, industry, and endurance of toil, and they abandon the slothful.