In discourse more sweet; For eloquence the soul, song charms the sense. Others apart sat on a hill retir'd, In thoughts more elevate, and reason'd high Of providence, foreknowledge, will, and fate, Fix'd fate, free-will, foreknowledge absolute; And found no end, in wand'ring mazes lost.

Nor jealousy Was understood, the injur'd lover's hell.

Ev'n them who kept thy truth so pure of old, When all our fathers worshipp'd stocks and stones.

Sport, that wrinkled Care derides, And Laughter holding both his sides. Come and trip it as ye go, On the light fantastic toe.

To be weak is miserable, Doing or suffering.

A short retirement urges a sweet return.

Danger will wink on opportunity.