I Can See His Pride Peep Through

Never; He Will Not: Age Cannot Wither Her, Nor Custom Stale Her Infinite Variety: Other Women Cloy The Appetites They Feed: But She Makes Hungry Where Most She Satisfies.

Quote: What Angel Wakes Me From My Flowery Bed?

If I Could Write The Beauty Of Your Eyes And In Fresh Numbers Number All Your Graces, The Age To Come Would Say, 'this Poet Lies; Such Heavenly Touches Ne'er Touch'd Earthly Faces.'

Gold--what Can It Not Do, And Undo?

O, What A World Of Vile Ill-favored Faults, Looks Handsome In Three Hundred Pounds A Year!