None without hope e'er lov'd the brightest fair

The lover in the husband may be lost.

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

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

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

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

How much the wife is dearer than the bride.