"With every pleasing, every prudent part, say, what can Chloe want?"-She wants a heart. She speaks, behaves, and writing acts just as she ought; But never, never, reached one generous thought. Virtue she finds too painful an endeavour, content to dwell in decencies for ever. So very reasonable, so unmoved, As never yet to love, or to be loved. She, while her lover pants upon her breast, can mark the figures on an Indian chest; And when she sees her friend in deep despair, Observes how much a chintz exceeds mohair. Forbid it, heaven, a favour or a debt She e'er should cancel-but she may forget. Safe is your secret still in Chloe's ear; But none of Chloe's shall you ever hear. Of all her dears she never slandered one, but cares not if a thousand are undone. Would Chloe know if you're alive or dead?
Last night, internet her lord was all that's good and great; a knave this morning, and his will a cheat. By the means defeated of the ends, by spirit robbed of power, by warmth of friend by wealth of followers! Without one distress Sick of herself through very selfishness! Atossa, cursed with every granted prayer, Childless with all her children, wants an heir. To heirs unknown descends the unguarded store, or wanders, heaven-directed, to the poor. Pictures like these, dear madam, to design, Asks no firm hand, and no unerring line; Some wandering touches, some reflected light, some flying stroke alone can hit 'em right: For how should equal colours do the knack? Chameleons who can paint in white and black? "Yet Chloe sure was formed without a spot"- nature in her then erred not, but forgot.
No thought advances, but her eddy brain Whisks it about, and down it goes again. Full sixty years the world has been her trade, the wisest fool much time has ever made From loveless youth to unrespected age, no passion gratified except her rage. So much the fury still outran the wit, The pleasure missed her, and the scandal hit. Who breaks with her, provokes revenge from hell, but he's a bolder man who dares be well. Her every turn with violence pursued, nor more a storm her hate than gratitude: to that each passion turns, or soon or late; love, if it makes her yield, must make her hate: Superiors? But an inferior not dependent? Offend her, and she knows not to forgive; Oblige her, and she'll hate you while you live: But die, and she'll adore you-then the bust And temple rise-then fall again to dust.
People make a, healthy, nation, essay, sample
Lucretia's dagger, rosamonda's bowl. Say, what can cause such impotence of mind? A spark love too fickle, or a spouse too kind. With pleasures too refined to please; With too much spirit to be e'er at ease; With too much quickness ever to be taught; With too much thinking to have common thought: you purchase pain with all that joy can give, and die of nothing but. Turn then from wits; and look on Simo's mate, no ass so meek, no ass so obstinate. Or her, that owns her faults, but never mends, because she's honest, and the best of friends.
Or her, whose life the Church and scandal share, for ever in a passion, or a prayer. Or her, who laughs at hell, but (like her Grace) Cries, "Ah! How charming, if there's no such place!" Or who in sweet vicissitude appears Of mirth and opium, ratafie and tears, The daily anodyne, and nightly draught, to kill those foes to fair ones, time and thought. Woman and fool are two hard things to hit; For true no-meaning puzzles more than wit. But what are these to great Atossa's mind? Scarce once herself, by turns all womankind! Who, with herself, or others, from her birth Finds all her life one warfare upon earth: Shines in exposing knaves, and painting fools, yet is, whate'er she hates and ridicules.
How soft is Silia! Fearful to offend; The frail one's advocate, the weak one's friend: to her, calista proved her conduct nice; And good Simplicius asks of her advice. You tip the wink, but spare your censure; Silia does not drink. All eyes may see from what the change arose, all eyes may see-a pimple on her nose. Papillia, wedded to her am'rous spark, sighs for the shades-"How charming is a park!" A park is purchased, but the fair he sees All bathed in tears-"Oh, odious, odious trees!" Ladies, like variegated tulips show; 'tis to their changes half their charms we owe; Fine.
Narcissa's nature, tolerably mild, to make a wash, would hardly stew a child; Has even been proved to grant a lover's prayer, And paid a tradesman once to make him stare; gave alms at Easter, in a christian trim, And made a widow happy, for. Why then declare good-nature is her scorn, When 'tis by that alone she can be borne? Why pique all mortals, yet affect a name? A fool to pleasure, yet a slave to fame: Now deep in taylor and the book of Martyrs, now drinking citron with his grace and Chartres: Now Conscience chills her, and now Passion burns; And Atheism and Religion take their turns; a very heathen. Let blood and body bear the fault, her head's untouched, that noble seat of thought: Such this day's doctrine-in another fit She sins with poets through pure love of wit. What has not fired her bosom or her brain? Caesar and Tall-boy, charles and Charlemagne. As Helluo, late dictator of the feast, The nose of hautgout, and the tip of taste, critic'd your wine, and analysed your meat, yet on plain pudding deigned at home to eat; so philomede, lecturing all mankind On the soft passion, and the taste refined. Flavia's a wit, has too much sense to pray; to toast our wants and wishes, is her way; Nor asks of God, but of her stars, to give the mighty blessing, "while we live, to live." Then all for death, that opiate of the soul!
I am in class 6 and have to write an essay on wealthy nation begins with
Nothing so true as what you once let fall, "Most women have no characters at all." Matter too soft a lasting mark to bear, And best distinguished by black, brown, or fair. How many pictures of one nymph we view, All how unlike each other, all how true! Arcadia's countess, here, in ermined pride, is, there, pastora by a fountain side. Here fannia, leering on her own good man, And there, a naked Leda oliver with a swan. Let then the fair one beautifully cry, in Magdalen's loose hair, and lifted eye, or dressed in smiles of sweet Cecilia shine, with simpering angels, palms, and harps divine; Whether the charmer sinner it, or saint it, If folly grow romantic, i must paint. Come then, the colours and the ground prepare! Dip in the rainbow, trick her off in air; Choose a firm cloud, before it fall, and in it Catch, ere she change, the cynthia of this minute. Rufa, whose eye, quick-glancing o'er the park Attracts each light gay meteor of a spark, agrees as ill with Rufa studying Locke, as Sappho's diamonds with her dirty smock; Or Sappho at her toilet's greasy task, with Sappho fragrant at an evening masque: so morning.
Behold a reverend sire, whom want of grace has made the father of a nameless race, shoved from the wall perhaps, or rudely pressed by his own son, that passes by unblessed: Still to his haunt he crawls on knocking knees, And envies every sparrow. A salmon's belly, helluo, was thy fate; The doctor called, declares all help too late: "Mercy!" cries Helluo, "mercy on my soul! Is there no hope!-Alas!-then bring the jowl." The frugal crone, whom praying priests attend, Still tries to save the hallowed taper's end, collects her breath, as ebbing life retires, for one puff more, and in that puff expires. 'twould a saint provoke" (Were the last words that poor Narcissa spoke "no, let a charming chintz, and Brussels lace Wrap my cold limbs, and shade my lifeless face: One would not, sure, be frightful when one's dead- and-betty-give this cheek a little red." The. Why-if I mfa must" (then wept)-"I give it paul." "The manor, sir?"-"The manor! Hold he cried, "Not that,-i cannot part with that"-and died. Brave cobham, to the latest breath Shall feel your ruling passion strong in death: Such in those moments as in all the past, "Oh, save my country, heaven!" shall be your last. Of the characters of women.
not ends; ambition was the vice. That very caesar, born in Scipio's days, had aimed, like him, by chastity at praise. Lucullus, when frugality could charm, had roasted turnips in the sabine farm. In vain the observer eyes the builder's toil, but quite mistakes the scaffold for the pile. In this one passion man can strength enjoy, as fits give vigour, just when they destroy. Time, that on all things lays his lenient hand, yet tames not this; it sticks to our last sand. Consistent in our follies and our sins, here honest Nature ends as she begins. Old politicians chew on wisdom past, And totter on in business to the last; As weak, as earnest, and as gravely out, As sober Lanesb'row dancing in the gout.
He'll shine a tully and a wilmot too. Then turns repentant, and his God adores. With the same spirit that he drinks and wh*s; Enough if all homework around him but admire, and now the punk applaud, and now the friar. Thus with each gift of nature and of art, And wanting nothing but an honest heart; Grown all to all, from no one vice exempt; And most contemptible, to shun contempt: His passion still, to covet general praise, his life, to forfeit it a thousand. Flagitious, yet not great. Ask you why Wharton broke through every rule? 'Twas all for fear the knaves should call him fool. Nature well known, no prodigies remain, comets are regular, and Wharton plain.
Band 8 essay should wealthy nations help poor nations?
Part 2 out of 4, by actions? Those uncertainty divides: by passions? These dissimulation hides: Opinions? They still take a wider range: Find, if you can, in what you cannot change. Manners with fortunes, humours turn with climes, tenets with books, and principles with times. Search then the ruling passion: there, alone, the wild are constant, evernote and the cunning known; The fool consistent, and the false sincere; Priests, princes, women, no dissemblers here. This clue once found, unravels all the rest, The prospect clears, and Wharton stands confest. Wharton, the scorn and wonder of our days, Whose ruling passion was the lust of praise: Born with whate'er could win it from the wise, women and fools must like him or he dies; Though wondering senates hung on all he spoke, the club must. Shall parts so various aim at nothing new!