Do good by stealth, and blush to find it fame.
Alexander PopeRead
Ah! what avails it me the flocks to keep,_x000D_ _x000D_ Who lost my heart while I preserv'd my sheep.
Do good by stealth, and blush to find it fame.
What dire offence from am'rous causes springs, What mighty contests rise from trivial things.
Fair tresses man's imperial race ensnare; And beauty draws us with a single hair.
An honest man's the noblest work of God.
One thought of thee puts all the pomp to flight;_x000D_ _x000D_ Priests, tapers, temples, swim before my sight.
Who breaks a butterfly on a wheel?
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