A fool must now and then be right, by chance
There is a pleasure in poetic pains / Which only poets know.
Th' embroid'ry of poetic dreams.
Strange as it may seem, the most ludicrous lines I ever wrote have been written in the saddest mood.
Pleasure admitted in undue degree, enslaves the will, nor leaves the judgment free.
Ye fearful saints fresh courage take, The clouds you so much dread Are big with mercy and shall break, With blessings on your head