Remote, unfriended, melancholy, slow, Or by the lazy Scheld or wandering Po.

Hope is such a bait, it covers any hook.

While Resignation gently slopes away, And all his prospects brightening to the last, His heaven commences ere the world be past.

For the first time, the best may err, art may persuade, and novelty spread out its charms. The first fault is the child of simplicity; but every other the offspring of guilt.

The youth who follows his appetites too soon seizes the cup, before it has received its best ingredients, and by anticipating his pleasures, robs the remaining parts of life of their share, so that his eagerness only produces manhood of imbecility and an age of pain.

What cities, as great as this, have... promised themselves immortality! Posterity can hardly trace the situation of some. The sorrowful traveller wanders over the awful ruins of others... Here stood their citadel, but now grown over with weeds; there their senate-house, but now the haunt of every noxious reptile; temples and theatres stood here, now only an undistinguished heap of ruins.

Even children follow'd with endearing wile, And pluck'd his gown, to share the good man's smile.