Implied Subjection, but requir'd with gentle sway, And by her yielded, by him best receiv'd,- Yielded with coy submission, modest pride, And sweet, reluctant, amorous delay.

The stars, that nature hung in heaven, and filled their lamps with everlasting oil, give due light to the misled and lonely traveller.

Our cure, to be no more; sad cure!

Come to the sunset tree! The day is past and gone; The woodman's axe lies free, And the reaper's work is done.

Midnight brought on the dusky hour Friendliest to sleep and silence.

The pious and just honoring of ourselves may be thought the fountainhead from whence every laudable and worthy enterprise issues forth.

For what can war, but endless war, still breed?