Oliver Goldsmith

How small of all that human hearts endure,
That part which laws or kings can cause or cure!
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How small of all that human hearts endure,
That part which laws or kings can cause or cure!
Still to ourselves in every place consigned,
Our own felicity we make or find.
With secret course, which no loud storms annoy,
Glides the smooth current of domestic joy.

A flattering painter, who made it his care
To draw men as they ought to be, not as they read more

A flattering painter, who made it his care
To draw men as they ought to be, not as they are.

Her modest looks the cottage might adorn,
Sweet as the primrose peeps beneath the thorn.

Her modest looks the cottage might adorn,
Sweet as the primrose peeps beneath the thorn.

They would talk of nothing but high life and high-lived company,
with other fashionable topics, such as pictures, taste, read more

They would talk of nothing but high life and high-lived company,
with other fashionable topics, such as pictures, taste,
Shakespeare, and the musical glasses.

Here lies our good Edmund, whose genius was such
We scarcely can praise it or blame it too much;
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Here lies our good Edmund, whose genius was such
We scarcely can praise it or blame it too much;
Who, born for the universe, narrow'd his mind,
And to party gave up what was meant for mankind.