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Oh, treacherous night thou lendest thy ready veil to every treason, and teeming mischief's beneath thy shade.

Aaron Hill

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Aaron Hill
Age: 64 †
Born: 1685
Born: February 10
Died: 1750
Died: February 8
Essayist
Playwright
Poet
Writer
Every
Veil
Mischief
Veils
Shade
Beneath
Thou
Teeming
Ready
Treacherous
Night
Treason

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Order, thou eye of action.
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Servile doubt argues an impotence of mind, that says we fear because we dare not meet misfortunes.
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The man who pauses on the paths of treason, Halts on a quicksand, the first step engulfs him.
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When Christ at Cana's feast by pow'r divine, Inspir'd cold water, with the warmth of wine, See! cry'd they while, in red'ning tide, it gush'd, The bashful stream hath seen its God and blush'd.
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First, then, a woman will, or won't, - depend on't If she will do't, she will and there's an end on't. But, if she won't, since safe and sound your trust is, Fear is affront: and jealousy injustice.
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Letters, from absent friends, extinguish fear, Unite division, and draw distance near Their magic force each silent wish conveys, And wafts embodied though, a thousand ways: Could souls to bodies write, death's pow'r were mean, For minds could then meet minds with heav'n between.
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Let shining Charity adorn your zeal, The noblest impulse generous minds can feel.
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Deceit is the false road to happiness and all the joys we travel through to vice, like fairy banquets, vanish when we touch them.
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Man is the circled oak woman the ivy.
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Union of hearts, not hands, does a marriage make, and sympathy of mind keeps love awake.
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O marriage! marriage! what a curse is thine, Where hands alone consent and hearts abhor.
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Let never man be bold enough to say, Thus, and no farther shall my passion stray: The first crime, past, compels us into more, And guilt grows fate, that was but choice, before.
Aaron Hill
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Reason gains all people by compelling none.
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Hide not thy tears weep boldly, and be proud to give the flowing virtue manly way it is nature's mark to know an honest heart by.
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Law that shocks equity is reason's murderer.
Aaron Hill
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She who means no mischief does it all.
Aaron Hill
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Trust me--with women worth the being won, The softest lover ever best succeeds.
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Joys, which we do not know, we do not wish.
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Tender-handed stroke a nettle, And it stings you for your pains Grasp it like a man of mettle, And it soft as silk remains. 'Tis the same with common natures: Use 'em kindly, they rebel But be rough as nutmeg-graters, And the rogues obey you well.
Aaron Hill
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Customs form us all, our thoughts, our morals, our most fixed beliefs are consequences of our place of birth.
Aaron Hill