The Glorious Lamp Of Heaven, The Radiant

Here Lies My Wife: Here Let Her Lie! Now She's At Rest, And So Am I.

So The False Spider, When Her Nets Are Spread, Deep Ambushed In Her Silent Den Does Lie.

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.

Sweet Is Pleasure After Pain.

Satire Is A Kind Of Poetry In Which Human Vices Are Reprehended.