Little pains In a due hour employ'd great profit yields.
– John Philips
My galligaskins, that have long withstood The winter's fury, and encroaching frosts, By time subdues (what will not time subdue!) An horrid chasm disclosed.
– John Philips
Thus do I live, from pleasure quite debarred, Nor taste the fruits that the sun's genial rays Mature, john-apple, nor the downy peach.
– John Philips
When swelling buds their od'rous foliage shed, And gently harden into fruit, the wise Spare not the little offsprings, if they grow Redundant.
– John Philips
When the sappy boughs Attire themselves with blooms, sweet rudiments Of future harvest.