THE MOST EXTENSIVE
ON THE INTERNET
Are we not one? are we not join'd by heav'n?
Each interwoven with the other's fate?
Are we not mix'd like streams of meeting rivers
Whose blended waters are no more distinguish'd,
But roll into the sea one common flood?
Bestrew my heart, but it is wond'rous strange;
Sure there is something more than witchcraft in them,
Than master ev'n the wisest of us all.
Comfort, like the golden sun,
Dispels the sullen shade with her sweet influence,
And cheers the melancholy house of care.
Conscious remorse and anguish must be felt, to curb desire, to break the stubborn will, and work a second nature in the soul.
Ev'n thus in hell, wander the restless damn'd:
From scorching flames to chilling frosts they run;
Then from their frosts to fires return again,
And only prove variety of pain.
Fatal ambition! say what wondrous charm
Delude mankind to toil for thee in arms?
Fly from the court's pernicious neighborhood;
Where innocence is sham'd, and blushing modesty
Is made the scorner's jest; where hate, deceit,
And deadly ruin wear the mask of beauty,
And draw deluded fools with shows of pleasure.
From God derived, to God by nature join'd.
We act the dictates of His mighty mind:
And though the priests are mute and temples still,
God never wants a voice to speak His will.
Great minds, like heaven, are pleased in doing good, though the ungrateful subjects of their favors are barren in return.
- [Benevolence : Charity]
Guilt is the source of sorrow; 'tis the fiend,
The avenging fiend, that follows us behind
With whips and stings.
Habitual evils change not on a sudden,
But many days must pass, and many sorrows;
Conscious remorse, and anguish must be felt,
To curb desire, to break the stubborn will,
And work a second nature in the soul,
Ere virtue can resume the place she lost.
If you are wise, and prize your peace of mind,
Believe me true, nor listen to your jealousy,
Let not that devil which undoes your sex,
That curs'd curiosity seduce you
To hunt for needless secrets, which, neglected,
Shall never hurt your quiet, but once known
Shall sit upon your heart, pinch it with pain,
And banish sweet sleep forever from, you.
If you would have the nuptial union last,
Let virtue be the bond that ties it fast.
It is a busy talking world,
That with licentious breath blows like the wind
As freely on the palace, as the cottage.
It wakes a glad remembrance of our youth, calls back past joys, and warms us into transport.
Let her rave,
And prophesy ten thousand thousand horrors;
I could join with her now, and bid 'em come;
They fit the present fury of my soul.
The stings of love and rage are fix'd within,
And drive me on to madness. Earthquakes, whirlwinds,
A general wreck of nature now would please me.
Lust is, of all the frailties of our nature, what most we ought to fear; the headstrong beast rushes along, impatient of the course; nor hears the rider's call, nor feels the rein.
Malicious slander never would have leisure
To search, with prying eyes, for faults abroad,
If all, like me, consider'd their own hearts,
And wept the sorrows which they found at home.
Man, tho' limited
By fate, may vainly think his actions free,
While all he does, was at his hour of birth,
Or by his gods, or potent stars ordain'd.
O death! thou gentle end of human sorrows.
Oh! wherefore doth thou soothe me with thy softness? why doth thou wind thyself about my heart, and make this separation painful to us?
Rage is the shortest passion of our souls,
Like narrow brooks that rise with sudden showers,
It swells in haste, and falls again as soon.
Still as it ebbs, the softer thoughts flow in,
And the deceiver, love, supplies its place.
- [Passion : Rage]
Religion's lustre is, by native innocence
Divinely pure, and simple from all arts;
You daub and dress her like a common mistress,
The harlot of your fancies; and by adding
False beauties, which she wants not, make the world
Suspect her angel's face is foul beneath,
And will not bear all lights.
That eating canker grief, with wasteful spite, preys on the rosy bloom of youth and beauty.
The birds, great Nature's happy commoners, that haunt in woods in meads; and flowery gardens, rifle the sweets and taste the choicest fruits.
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