Oliver Goldsmith

The only art her guilt to cover,
To hide her shame from every eye,
To give repentance read more

The only art her guilt to cover,
To hide her shame from every eye,
To give repentance to her lover,
And wring his bosom, is--to die.

Remembrance wakes with all her busy train,
Swells at my breast, and turns the past to pain.

Remembrance wakes with all her busy train,
Swells at my breast, and turns the past to pain.

Round its breast the rolling clouds are spread,
Eternal sunshine settles on its head.

Round its breast the rolling clouds are spread,
Eternal sunshine settles on its head.

I chose my wife, as she did her wedding gown, for qualities that would wear well

I chose my wife, as she did her wedding gown, for qualities that would wear well

Of praise a mere glutton, he swallow'd what came,
And the puff a dunce, he mistook it for fame;
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Of praise a mere glutton, he swallow'd what came,
And the puff a dunce, he mistook it for fame;
Till his relish grown callous, almost to displease,
Who pepper'd the highest was surest to please.