A very merry, dancing, drinking,
Laughing, quaffing, and unthinking time.
The people’s prayer, the glad diviner’s theme,
The young men’s vision, and the old men’s dream!
Happy the man, and happy he alone,
He who can call to-day his own;
He who, secure within, can say,
To-morrow, do thy worst, for I have liv’d to-day.
Fool, not to know that love endures no tie,
And Jove but laughs at lovers’ perjury.
Who think too little, and who talk too much.
Not heaven itself upon the past has power;
But what has been, has been, and I have had my hour.
For Art may err, but Nature cannot miss.
A man so various, that he seem’d to be
Not one, but all mankind’s epitome;
Stiff in opinions, always in the wrong,
Was everything by starts, and nothing long;
But in the course of one revolving moon
Was chymist, fiddler, statesman, and buffoon.
I can enjoy her while she ‘s kind;
But when she dances in the wind,
And shakes the wings and will not stay,
I puff the prostitute away.
Welcome as kindly showers to the long parched earth.
Ill habits gather by unseen degrees,–
As brooks make rivers, rivers run to seas.
So over violent, or over civil,
That every man with him was God or Devil.
And virtue, though in rags, will keep me warm.
‘Tis good to laugh at any rate; and if a straw can tickle a man, it is an instrument of happiness.
Look round the habitable world: how few
Know their own good, or knowing it, pursue.
Beware the fury of a patient man.
For truth has such a face and such a mien,
As to be lov’d needs only to be seen.
I have not joyed an hour since you departed, for public miseries, and for private fears; but this blest meeting has o’erpaid them all.
Our souls sit close and silently within,
And their own web from their own entrails spin;
And when eyes meet far off, our sense is such,
That, spider-like, we feel the tenderest touch.
For every inch that is not fool is rogue.
And kind as kings upon their coronation day.
Men met each other with erected look,
The steps were higher that they took;
Friends to congratulate their friends made haste,
And long inveterate foes saluted as they pass’d.
Errors, like straws, upon the surface flow;
He who would search for pearls must dive below.
None but the brave deserves the fair.
For those whom God to ruin has design’d,
He fits for fate, and first destroys their mind.