Never was flattery lost on a poet's ear; a simple race, they waste their toil for the vain tribute of a smile.
Walter ScottI will but confess the sins of my green cloak to my grey friar's frock, and all shall be well again.
Walter ScottO woman! in our hours of ease Uncertain, coy, and hard to please, And variable as the shade By the light quivering aspen made; When pain and anguish wring the brow, A ministering angel thou!
Walter Scott