Quotes
Quotes about End
Where Nature's end of language is declin'd,
And men talk only to conceal the mind.
And friend received with thumps upon the back.
First, then, a woman will or won't, depend on 't;
If she will do 't, she will; and there's an end on 't.
But if she won't, since safe and sound your trust is,
Fear is affront, and jealousy injustice.
Tender-handed stroke a nettle,
And it stings you for your pains;
Grasp it like a man of mettle,
And it soft as silk remains.
'T is the same with common natures:
Use 'em kindly, they rebel;
But be rough as nutmeg-graters,
And the rogues obey you well.
All are but parts of one stupendous whole,
Whose body Nature is, and God the soul.
Chaos of thought and passion, all confused;
Still by himself abused or disabused;
Created half to rise, and half to fall;
Great lord of all things, yet a prey to all;
Sole judge of truth, in endless error hurled,--
The glory, jest, and riddle of the world.
Extremes in nature equal ends produce;
In man they join to some mysterious use.
Vice is a monster of so frightful mien,
As to be hated needs but to be seen;
Yet seen too oft, familiar with her face,
We first endure, then pity, then embrace.
O happiness! our being's end and aim!
Good, pleasure, ease, content! whate'er thy name:
That something still which prompts the eternal sigh,
For which we bear to live, or dare to die.
Say, shall my little bark attendant sail,
Pursue the triumph and partake the gale?
Thou wert my guide, philosopher, and friend.
Atossa, cursed with every granted prayer,
Childless with all her children, wants an heir;
To heirs unknown descends the unguarded store,
Or wanders heaven-directed to the poor.
Virtue she finds too painful an endeavour,
Content to dwell in decencies forever.
Blest paper-credit! last and best supply!
That lends corruption lighter wings to fly.
But thousands die without or this or that,--
Die, and endow a college or a cat.
Statesman, yet friend to truth! of soul sincere,
In action faithful, and in honour clear;
Who broke no promise, serv'd no private end,
Who gain'd no title, and who lost no friend.
A needless Alexandrine ends the song,
That like a wounded snake drags its slow length along.
Soft is the strain when zephyr gently blows,
And the smooth stream in smoother numbers flows;
But when loud surges lash the sounding shore,
The hoarse rough verse should like the torrent roar.
When Ajax strives some rock's vast weight to throw,
The line too labours, and the words move slow:
Not so when swift Camilla scours the plain,
Flies o'er th' unbending corn, and skims along the main.
Friend to my life, which did not you prolong,
The world had wanted many an idle song.
Obliged by hunger and request of friends.
Cursed be the verse, how well so e'er it flow,
That tends to make one worthy man my foe.
Me let the tender office long engage
To rock the cradle of reposing age;
With lenient arts extend a mother's breath,
Make languor smile, and smooth the bed of death;
Explore the thought, explain the asking eye,
And keep awhile one parent from the sky.
But touch me, and no minister so sore;
Whoe'er offends at some unlucky time
Slides into verse, and hitches in a rhyme,
Sacred to ridicule his whole life long,
And the sad burden of some merry song.
There St. John mingles with my friendly bowl,
The feast of reason and the flow of soul.
Now night descending, the proud scene was o'er,
But lived in Settle's numbers one day more.
