Her cap, far whiter than the driven snow

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

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

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

Pun-provoking thyme.

Love is a pleasing, but a various clime!

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