THE MOST EXTENSIVE
ON THE INTERNET
Nature is frugal, and her wants are few.
Night is fair virtue's immemorial friend;
The conscious moon, through every distant age,
Has held a lamp to wisdom, and let fall
On contemplation's eye her purging ray.
No man ever thought too highly of his nature or too meanly of himself.
Not all on books their criticism waste; the genius of a dish some justly taste, and eat their way to fame.
Nothing exceeds in ridicule, no doubt,
A fool in fashion, but a fool that's out;
His passion for absurdity's so strong,
He cannot bear a rival in the wrong.
O how portentous is prosperity!
How, comet-like, it threatens, while it shines!
O majestic night! nature's great ancestor!
O may my understanding ever read
This glorious volume, which thy wisdom made.
Of plain sound sense life's current coin is made;
With that we drive the most substantial trade.
Oh! the pain of pains
Is when the fair one, whom our soul is fond of,
Gives transport, and receives it from another.
Oh! the tender ties,
Close twisted with the fibres of the heart!
Which broken, break them, and drain off the soul
Of human joy, and make it pain to live.
Oh, lost to virtue--lost to manly thought,
Lost to the noble sallies of the soul!
Who think it solitude to be alone.
On argument alone my faith is built.
On such a theme it were impious to be calm; passion is reason, transport, temper, here!
On the soft bed of luxury, most kingdoms have expired.
On very thorn, delightful wisdom grows,
In every rill a sweet instruction flows.
Our funeral tears from different causes rise:
Of various kinds they flow. From tender hearts,
By soft contagion call'd, some burst at once
And stream obsequious to the leading eye.
Some ask more time, by curious art distill'd.
Some hearts, in secret hard, unapt to melt,
Struck by the public eye, gush out amain.
Our thoughts are heard in heaven!
Our waking dreams are fatal.
Our wishes lengthen, as our sun declines.
Part with it as with money, sparing; pay no moment but in purchase of its worth: and what its worth ask death-beds; they can tell.
Pity swells the tide of love.
Poor is the friendless master of a world:
A world in purchase for a friend is gain.
- [Friends : Friendship]
Poor pensioner on the bounty of an hour.
Possession, why more tasteless than pursuit? Why is a wish far dearer than a crown? that wish accomplished, why the grave of bliss? Because in the great future, buried deep, beyond our plans of empire and renown, lies all that man with ardor should pursue; and He who made him bent him to the right.
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