Love comes unseen,—we only see it go. - Austin Dobson

The ladies of St. James’s!
They’re painted to the eyes;
Their white it stays forever
Their red it never dies:
But Phillida, my Phillida!
Her colour comes and goes;
It trembles to a lily,—
It wavers to a rose.

Fame is a food that dead men eat,—
I have no stomach for such meat.

A retrospect of the Eighteenth-Century Essayists subsequent to the ',' ',' and ',' only serves to confirm the supremacy of Addison and Steele. Some of their successors approached them in serious writing; others carried the lighter kinds to considerable perfection; but none (Goldsmith alone excepted) really rivaled them in that happily mingling of the lively and severe, which Johnson envied but could not emulate.