The garlands fade, the vows are worn away; So dies her love, and so my hopes decay. - Alexander Pope

"Let Sporus tremble — "What? that thing of silk,
Sporus, that mere white curd of ass's milk?
Satire or sense, alas! can Sporus feel?
Who breaks a Butterfly upon a Wheel?"
Yet let me flap this Bug with gilded wings,
This painted Child of Dirt that stinks and stings;
Whose Buzz the Witty and the Fair annoys,
Yet Wit ne'er tastes, and Beauty ne'er enjoys,"

Trust not yourself; but your defects to know,
Make use of ev'ry friend — and ev'ry foe.

LO! THY DREAD EMPIRE, CHAOS! IS RESTOR’D; LIGHT DIES BEFORE THY UNCREATING WORD; THY HAND, GREAT ANARCH! LETS THE CURTAIN FALL; AND UNIVERSAL DARKNESS BURIES ALL