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I've known my lady (for she loves a tune) For fevers take an opera in June: And, though perhaps you'll think the practice bold, A midnight park is sov'reign for a cold.

Edward Young

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Edward Young
Died: 1765
Died: April 5
Literary Critic
Playwright
Poet
Upham
Hampshire
Practice
Tunes
Fevers
Though
Sickness
Fever
Known
Parks
June
Take
Opera
Tune
Think
Lady
Bold
Thinking
Loves
Midnight
Perhaps
Park
Cold
Reign

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The man who builds, and wants wherewith to pay, Provides a home from which to run away.
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Groan under gold, yet weep for want of bread.
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Be wise to-day 't is madness to defer.
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Of boasting more than of a bomb afraid, A soldier should be modest as a maid.
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Souls made of fire, and children of the sun, With whom revenge is virtue.
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This is the bud of being, the dim dawn, The twilight of our day, the vestibule Life's theatre as yet is shut, and death, Strong death, alone can heave the massy bar, This gross impediment of clay remove, And make us embryos of existence free.
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The man who consecrates his hours by vigorous effort, and an honest aim, at once he draws the sting of life and Death he walks with nature and her paths are peace.
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On every thorn, delightful wisdom grows, In every rill a sweet instruction flows.
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Where boasting ends, there dignity begins.
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An angel's arm can't snatch me from the grave legions of angels can't confine me there.
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What tender force, what dignity divine, what virtue consecrating every feature around that neck what dross are gold and pearl!
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The purpose firm is equal to the deed
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By night an atheist half-believes in God.
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Pity swells the tide of love.
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Ambition! powerful source of good and ill!
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The qualities all in a bee that we meet, In an epigram never should fail The body should always be little and sweet, And a sting should be felt in its tail.
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Day buries day month, month and year the year: Our life is but a chain of many deaths.
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Insatiate archer! could not one suffice? Thy shaft flew thrice, and thrice my peace was slain And thrice, ere thrice yon moon had filled her horn.
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Affliction is the good man's shining scene prosperity conceals his brightest ray as night to stars, woe lustre gives to man.
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There is nothing of which men are more liberal than their good advice, be their stock of it ever so small because it seems to carry in it an intimation of their own influence, importance or worth.
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