Edward Moore Quotes

But from the hoop’s bewitching round,
Her very shoe has power to wound.

The maid who modestly conceals
Her beauties, while she hides, reveals;
Give but a glimpse, and fancy draws
Whate’er the Grecian Venus was.

I am rich beyond the dreams of avarice.

But beauty has wings, and too hastily flies, And love, unrewarded, soon sickens and dies.

Can’t I another’s face commend,
And to her virtues be a friend,
But instantly your forehead lours,
As if her merit lessen’d yours?

’Tis now the summer of your youth: time has not cropt the roses from your cheek, though sorrow long has washed them.

I'll tell thee what it [the world] says: it calls me a villain: a treacherous husband; a cruel father; a false brother; one lost to nature and her charities; or, to say all in one short word, it calls me—gamester.

Time still, as he flies, brings increase to her truth,
And gives to her mind what he steals from her youth.