Could Swell The Soul To Rage, Or

I Learn To Pity Woes So Like My Own.

You See Through Love, And That Deludes Your Sight, As What Is Straight Seems Crooked Through The Water.

But Love's A Malady Without A Cure.

The Thought Of Being Nothing After Death Is A Burden Insupportable To A Virtuous Man.

There Is An Inimitable Grace In Virgil's Words, And In Them Principally Consists That Beauty Which Gives So Inexpressible A Pleasure To Him Who Best Understands Their Force. This Diction Of His, I Must Once Again Say, Is Never To Be Copied; And Since It Cannot, He Will Appear But Lame In The Best Translation.