Love is a pleasing, but a various clime!

I trimm'd my lamp, consumed the midnight oil.

Pun-provoking thyme.

A little bench of heedless bishops here, And there a chancellor in embryo.

Oft has good-nature been the fool's defence, And honest meaning gilded want of sense.

Her cap, far whiter than the driven snow, Emblem right meet of decency does yield.

Perish the lover, whose imperfect flame Forgets one feature of the nymph he lov'd.