William Congreve

It is the business of a comic poet to paint the vices and follies of human kind.

Thus grief still treads upon the heels of pleasure; Married in haste, we may repent at leisure.

Men are apt to offend ('tis true) where they find most goodness to forgive.

Eternity was in that moment.

If this be not love, it is madness, and then it is pardonable.

I find we are growing serious, and then we are in great danger of being dull.

Hannibal was a very pretty fellow in those days.

In my conscience I believe the baggage loves me, for she never speaks well of me herself, nor suffers any body else to rail at me.

Pious Selinda goes to Pray’rs, If I but ask the Favour; And yet the tender Fool’s in Tears, When she believes I’ll leave her.Wou’d I were free from Restraint, Or else had Hopes to win her; Wou’d she cou’d make of me a Saint,

Defer not till tomorrow to be wise, Tomorrow's sun to thee may never rise.

Invention flags, his brain goes muddy, And black despair succeeds brown study.

Careless she is with artful care, Affecting to seem unaffected.

Ah! Whither, whither shall I fly, A poor unhappy Maid; To hopeless Love and Misery By my own Heart betray’d?