‘Tis now the summer of your youth: time has not cropped the roses from your cheek, though sorrow long has washed them. – Edward Moore
Time, still as he flies, adds increase to her truth, and gives to her mind what he steals from her youth. – Edward Moore
Ay, rail at gaming – ’tis a rich topic, and affords noble declamation. Go, preach against it in the city – you’ll find a congregation in every tavern. – Edward Moore
