The nurse sleeps sweetly, hired to watch the sick, / whom, snoring, she disturbs.
He that runs may read.
Who loves a garden loves a greenhouse too.
Ye fearful saints fresh courage take, The clouds you so much dread Are big with mercy and shall break, With blessings on your head
How sweet, how passing sweet, is solitude! But grant me still a friend in my retreat, whom I may whisper, solitude is sweet.
'Tis liberty alone that gives the flower Of fleeting life its lustre and perfume; And we are weeds without it.