How gladly would I meet mortality, my sentence, and be earth in sensible! How glad would lay me down, as in my mother's lap! There I should rest, and sleep secure.

Tears such as angels weep.

Take heed lest passion sway Thy judgement to do aught, which else free will Would not admit.

A good book is the precious lifeblood of a master spirit.

Earth felt the wound; and Nature from her seat, Sighing through all her works, gave signs of woe That all was lost.

Our two first parents, yet the only two Of mankind, in the happy garden placed, Reaping immortal fruits of joy and love, Uninterrupted joy, unrivalled love In blissful solitude.

Among unequals what society Can sort, what harmony, or true delight?