Date: 1764, 1773

"In cloister'd state let selfish sages dwell, / Proud that their heart is narrow as their cell!"

— Shenstone, William (1714-1763)

Date: 1764

"All evils here contaminate the mind, / That opulence departed leaves behind."

— Goldsmith, Oliver (1728?-1774)

Date: 1764

"Each nobler aim, repressed by long control, / Now sinks at last or feebly mans the soul; / While low delights, succeeding fast behind, / In happier meanness occupy the mind: / As in those domes, where Caesars once bore sway, / Defaced by time and tottering in decay, / There in the ruin, heedless...

— Goldsmith, Oliver (1728?-1774)

Date: 1764

"Stern o'er each bosom reason holds her state / With daring aims irregularly great."

— Goldsmith, Oliver (1728?-1774)

Date: 1764

"Thus every good his native wilds impart / Imprints the patriot passion on his heart, / And even those ills, that round his mansion rise, / Enhance the bliss his scanty fund supplies."

— Goldsmith, Oliver (1728?-1774)

Date: 1764

Whence from such lands each pleasing science flies, / That first excites desire and then supplies; / Unknown to them, when sensual pleasures cloy, / To fill the languid pause with finer joy; / Unknown those powers that raise the soul to flame, / Catch every nerve and vibrate through the frame."

— Goldsmith, Oliver (1728?-1774)

Date: 1764

"In wild excess the vulgar breast takes fire, / Till, buried in debauch, the bliss expire."

— Goldsmith, Oliver (1728?-1774)

Date: 1764

"But while this softer art their bliss supplies, / It gives their follies also room to rise; / For praise too dearly loved or warmly sought / Enfeebles all internal strength of thought; / And the weak soul, within itself unblest, / Leans for all pleasure on another's breast."

— Goldsmith, Oliver (1728?-1774)

Date: 1764

"Thus, while around the wave-subjected soil / Impels the native to repeated toil, / Industrious habits in each bosom reign, / And industry begets a love of gain."

— Goldsmith, Oliver (1728?-1774)

Date: 1764

"For, as refinement stops, from sire to son / Unaltered, unimproved the manners run; / And love's and friendship's finely pointed dart / Fall blunted from each indurated heart."

— Goldsmith, Oliver (1728?-1774)