William Cowper

The rout is Folly's circle, which she draws
With magic wand. So potent is the spell,
That read more

The rout is Folly's circle, which she draws
With magic wand. So potent is the spell,
That none decoy'd into that fatal ring,
Unless by Heaven's peculiar grace, escape.
There we grow early gray, but never wise.

Fate steals along with silent tread,
Found oftenest in what least we dread;
Frowns in the storm read more

Fate steals along with silent tread,
Found oftenest in what least we dread;
Frowns in the storm with angry brow,
But in the sunshine strikes the blow.

Oh, for a lodge in some vast wilderness,
Some boundless contiguity of shade,
Where rumour of oppression read more

Oh, for a lodge in some vast wilderness,
Some boundless contiguity of shade,
Where rumour of oppression and deceit,
Of unsuccessful or successful war,
Might never reach me more!

Unless a love of virtue light the flame,
Satire is, more than those he brands, to blame;
read more

Unless a love of virtue light the flame,
Satire is, more than those he brands, to blame;
He hides behind a magisterial air
He own offences, and strips others' bare.

His wit invites you by his looks to come,
But when you knock, it never is at home.

His wit invites you by his looks to come,
But when you knock, it never is at home.