George Lyttelton, 1st Baron Lyttelton

For his chaste Muse employ'd her heaven-taught lyre None but the noblest passions to inspire, Not one immoral, one corrupted thought, One line which, dying, he could wish to blot.

How much the wife is dearer than the bride.

None without hope e'er lov'd the brightest fair: But Love can hope, where Reason would despair.

Alas! by some degree of woe We every bliss must gain: The heart can ne'er a transport know, That never feels a pain.

The lover in the husband may be lost.

Seek to be good, but aim not to be great; A woman’s noblest station is retreat.

What is your sex's earliest, latest care, Your heart's supreme ambition?—To be fair.

Where none admire, 'tis useless to excel; Where none are beaux, 'tis vain to be a belle.