Virtue Is Chok'd With Foul Ambition

And When Love Speaks, The Voice Of All The Gods Makes Heaven Drowsy With The Harmony.

He That Dies This Year Is Quit For The Next.

How Much An Ill Word May Empoison Liking!

Now The Good Gods Forbid That Our Renowned Rome, Whose Gratitude Towards Her Deserved Children Is Enrolled In Jove's Own Book, Like An Unnatural Dam Should Now Eat Up Her Own!

Tell Me Where Is Fancy Bred, Or In The Heart, Or In The Head? How Begot, How Nourished? Reply, Reply. It Is Engend'red In The Eyes, With Gazing Fed, And Fancy Dies In The Cradle Where It Lies.