For loveliness Needs not the foreign aid of ornament, But is when unadorned adorned the most. - James Thomson

The best of men have ever loved repose: They hate to mingle in the filthy fray;
Where the soul sours, and gradual rancour grows, Imbitter'd more from peevish day to day.

I care not, Fortune, what you me deny; You cannot rob me of free Nature's grace,
You cannot shut the windows of the sky, Through which Aurora shows her brightening face; You cannot bar my constant feet to trace
The woods and lawns, by living stream, at eve.
Let health my nerves and finer fibres brace,
And I their toys to the great children leave:
Of fancy, reason, virtue, naught can me bereave.

Welcome, kindred glooms!
Congenial horrors, hail!