Illustrious acts high raptures do infuse, And every conqueror creates a muse.
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All human things Of dearest value hang on slender strings.
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A narrow compass! and yet there Dwelt all that 's good, and all that 's fair; Give me but what this riband bound, Take all the rest the sun goes round.
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Others may use the ocean as their road; Only the English make it their abode.
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Could we forbear dispute, and practise love, We should agree as angels do above.
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Go, lovely rose! Tell her that wastes her time and me That now she knows, When I resemble her to thee, How sweet and fair she seems to be.
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Poets that lasting marble seek Must come in Latin or in Greek.
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The lark that shuns on lofty boughs to build, Her humble nest, lies silent in the field.
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Poets lose half the praise they should have got, Could it be known what they discreetly blot.