There is no arguing with him, for if his pistol misses fire, he knockes you down with the butt end of it.
Oliver Goldsmith (1728 - 1774)
Contributed by: Zaady
I find you want me to furnish you with argument and intellect too.
Source: Vicar of Wakefield
As aromatic plants bestow No spicy fragrance while they grow; But crush'd or trodden to the ground, Diffuse their balmy sweets around.
Source: The Captivity
The canvas glow'd beyond ev'n Nature warm, The pregnant quarry teem'd with human form.
Source: The Traveller
Sweet Auburn! loveliest village of the plain.
Source: The Deserted Village
The best-humour'd man, with the worst-humour'd Muse.
Cheerful at morn, he wakes from short repose, Breasts the keen air, and carols as he goes.
The whitewash'd wall, the nicely sanded floor, The varnish'd clock that click'd behind the door; The chest, contriv'd a double debt to pay,- A bed by night, a chest of drawers by day.
Here lies David Garrick, describe me who can, An abridgment of all that was pleasant in man.
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