He scratched his ear, the infallible resource to which embarrassed people have recourse.
Man is in part divine, A troubled stream from a pure source.
In hope to merit heaven by making earth a hell.
A thirst for gold, The beggar's vice, which can but overwhelm The meanest hearts.
But quiet to quick bosoms is a hell.
Romances paint at full length people's wooing. But only give a bust of marriages.