William Cowper

Misses! the tale that I relate This lesson seems to carry — Choose not alone a proper mate, But proper time to marry.

Beware of desp'rate steps! The darkest day (Live till tomorrow) will have passed away.

My dog! what remedy remains, Since, teach you all I can, I see you, after all my pains, So much resemble man!

Visits are insatiable devourers of time, and fit only for those who, if they did not that, would do nothing.

And still to love, though prest with ill, In wintry age to feel no chill, With me is to be lovely still, My Mary!

Toll for the brave — The brave! that are no more; All sunk beneath the wave, Fast by their native shore!

A worm is in the bud of youth, And at the root of age.

Tenants of life’s middle state, Securely placed between the small and great.

Behold your bishop! well he plays his part, Christian in name, and infidel in heart, Ghostly in office, earthly in his plan, A slave at court, elsewhere a lady’s man. Dumb as a senator, and as a priest A piece of mere church furniture at …

The parson knows enough who knows a duke.

But truths on which depends our main concern, That 'tis our shame and mistery not to learn, Shine by the side of every path we tread With such a luster, he that runs may read.

An honest man, close-buttoned to the chin, Broadcloth without, and a warm heart within.

The poplars are felled, farewell to the shade And the whispering sound of the cool colonnade.

Mr. Grenville squeezed me by the hand again, kissed the ladies, and withdrew. He kissed likewise the maid in the kitchen, and seemed upon the whole a most loving, kissing, kind-hearted gentleman.

I believe no man was ever scolded out of his sins.

Our severest winter, commonly called the spring.

Old Tiney, the surliest of his kind! Who, nursed with tender care, And to domestic bounds confined, Was still a wild Jack hare.Though duly from my hand he took His pittance every night, He did it with a jealous look;

But what is man in his own proud esteem? Hear him, himself the poet and the theme; A monarch clothed with majesty and awe, His mind his kingdom and his will his law.

The sounding jargon of the schools.

Just knows, and knows no more, her Bible true,— A truth the brilliant Frenchman never knew.

He has no hope that never had a fear.

There goes the parson, O illustrious spark! And there, scarce less illustrious, goes the clerk.

Oh, fond attempt to give a deathless lot To names ignoble, born to be forgot!

A knave, when tried on honesty's plain rule, And, when by that of reason, a mere fool.