As if Misfortune made the Throne her Seat, And none could be unhappy but the Great.
– Nicholas Rowe
From every blush that kindles in thy cheeks, Ten thousand little loves and graces spring To revel in the roses.
– Nicholas Rowe
Guilt is the source of sorrows, the avenging fiend that follows us behind with whips and stings.
– Nicholas Rowe
Thou hast prevariated with thy friend, By underhand contrivances undone me: And while my open nature trusted in thee, Thou hast stept in between me and my hopes, And ravish'd from me all my soul held dear.
– Nicholas Rowe
When our old Pleasures die, Some new One still is nigh; Oh! fair Variety!
– Nicholas Rowe
Your bounty is beyond my speaking; But though my mouth be dumb, my heart shall thank you.