'Not to admire, is all the art I know, To make men happy, and to keep them so.' (Plain truth, dear Murray, needs no flowers of speech, So take it in the very words of Creech.)[136]...
In that soft season, when descending show'rs Call forth the greens, and wake the rising flow'rs; When op'ning buds salute the welcome day, And earth relenting feels the genial day,...
Behold the woes of matrimonial life, And hear with reverence an experienced wife! To dear-bought wisdom give the credit due, And think, for once, a woman tells you true....
What's fame with men, by custom of the nation, Is call'd, in women, only reputation: About them both why keep we such a pother? Part you with one, and I'll renounce the other.
'Ah, friend! 'tis true--this truth you lovers know-- In vain my structures rise, my gardens grow, In vain fair Thames reflects the double scenes Of hanging mountains, and of sloping greens:...
The fair Pomona flourish'd in his reign; Of all the virgins of the sylvan train None taught the trees a nobler race to bear, Or more improved the vegetable care. To her the shady grove, the flowery field,...
Thy forests, Windsor! and thy green retreats, At once the Monarch's and the Muse's seats, Invite my lays. Be present, sylvan maids! Unlock your springs, and open all your shades....
Thyrsis, the music of that murm'ring spring, Is not so mournful as the strains you sing. Nor rivers winding thro' the vales below, So sweetly warble, or so smoothly flow....