Now as the Paradisiacal pleasures of the Mahometans consist in playing upon the flute and lying with Houris, be mine to read eternal new romances of Marivaux and Crebillon.
Sorrow's faded form, and solitude behind.
A fav'rite has no friend!
If the best man's faults were written on his forehead, he would draw his hat over his eyes.
And hie him home, at evening's close, To sweet repast and calm repose.
Visions of glory, spare my aching sight! Ye unborn ages, crowd not on my soul!