Man wants but little here below, Nor wants that little long.
Oliver Goldsmith (1728 - 1774)
Contributed by: Zaady
In all the silent manliness of grief.
Source: The Deserted Village
Thou source of all my bliss and all my woe, That found'st me poor at first, and keep'st me so.
By sports like these are all their cares beguil'd; The sports of children satisfy the child.
Source: The Traveller
On the stage he was natural, simple, affecting; 'T was only that when he was off he was acting.
When they talk'd of their Raphaels, Correggios, and stuff, He shifted his trumpet and only took snuff.
For just experience tells, in every soil, That those that think must govern those that toil.
Through torrid tracts with fainting steps they go, Where wild Altama murmurs to their woe.
Remote, unfriended, melancholy, slow, Or by the lazy Scheld or wandering Po.
And fools who came to scoff remain'd to pray.
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