Oliver Goldsmith

The dancing pair that simply sought renown,By holding out to tire each other down;The swain mistrustless of his smutted face,While read more

The dancing pair that simply sought renown,By holding out to tire each other down;The swain mistrustless of his smutted face,While secret laughter titter'd round the place;The bashful virgin's side-long looks of love,The matrons glance that would those looks reprove:These were thy charms, sweet village; sports like these,With sweet succession, taught e'en toil to please;These were thy bowers their cheerful influence shed,These were thy charms -- but all these charms are fled. - Deserted Village, The.

And the weak soul, within itself unbless'd,
Leans for all pleasure on another's breast.

And the weak soul, within itself unbless'd,
Leans for all pleasure on another's breast.

How blest is he who crowns in shades like these,
A youth of labour with an age of ease.

How blest is he who crowns in shades like these,
A youth of labour with an age of ease.

There is no arguing with him, for if his pistol misses fire, he knocks you down with the butt end read more

There is no arguing with him, for if his pistol misses fire, he knocks you down with the butt end of it.

As a wit, if not first, in the very first line.

As a wit, if not first, in the very first line.