Light Sufferings Give Us Leisure To Complain.

Pity Only On Fresh Objects Stays, But With The Tedious Sight Of Woes Decays.

Virgil, Above All Poets, Had A Stock Which I May Call Almost Inexhaustible, Of Figurative, Elegant, And Sounding Words.

All Delays Are Dangerous In War.

For Thee, Sweet Month; The Groves Green Liveries Wear. If Not The First, The Fairest Of The Year; For Thee The Graces Lead The Dancing Hours, And Nature's Ready Pencil Paints The Flowers. When Thy Short Reign Is Past, The Feverish Sun The Sultry Tropic Fears, And Moves More Slowly On.

You See Through Love, And That Deludes Your Sight, As What Is Straight Seems Crooked Through The Water.