Matthew Prior

Who breathes must suffer, and who thinks must mourn; And he alone is bless'd who ne'er was born.

The end must justify the means.

Fantastic tyrant of the amorous heart. How hard thy yoke, how cruel thy dart. Those escape your anger who refuse your sway, and those are punished most, who most obey.

Hope is but the dream of those who wake.

Similes are like songs of love: They much describe they nothing prove.

They never taste who always drink They always talk who never think.

He's half absolv'd Who has confess'd.

Hope is but the dream of those that wake.

And hope is but a dream of those that wake.