The canvas glow'd beyond ev'n Nature warm, The pregnant quarry teem'd with human form. - Oliver Goldsmith

That virtue which requires to be ever guarded is scarce worth the sentinel.

To men of other minds my fancy flies,
Embosomed in the deep where Holland lies.
Methinks her patient sons before me stand,
Where the broad ocean leans against the land.

Ill fares the land, to hastening ills a prey,
Where wealth accumulates, and men decay;
Princes and lords may flourish, or may fade;
A breath can make them, as a breath has made;
But a bold peasantry, their country's pride,
When once destroyed, can never be supplied.