Ye stars! which are the poetry of heaven!

Cervantes smiled Spain's chivalry away; A single laugh demolish'd the right arm Of his own country.

Eternity forbids thee to forget.

Which cheers the sad, revives the old, inspires The young, makes Weariness forget his toil, And Fear her danger; opens a new world When this, the present, palls.

A man of eighty has outlived probably three new schools of painting, two of architecture and poetry and a hundred in dress.

Not to admire, is all the art I know To make men happy, or to keep them so. Thus Horace wrote we all know long ago; And thus Pope quotes the precept to re-teach From his translation; but had none admired, Would Pope have sung, or Horace been inspired?

Pleasure's a sin, and sometimes sin's a pleasure.