William Congreve

I came up-stairs into the world; for I was born in a cellar.

I came up-stairs into the world; for I was born in a cellar.

There are come Critics so with Spleen diseased,
They scarcely come inclining to be pleased:
And sure read more

There are come Critics so with Spleen diseased,
They scarcely come inclining to be pleased:
And sure he must have more than mortal Skill,
Who please one against his Will.

Heaven has no rage like love to hatred turn'd,
Nor hell a fury like a woman scorned.

Heaven has no rage like love to hatred turn'd,
Nor hell a fury like a woman scorned.

Music hath charm to soothe a savage breast, To soften rocks, or bend a knotted oak.

Music hath charm to soothe a savage breast, To soften rocks, or bend a knotted oak.