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| Grocott & Ward, comps. Grocott’s Familiar Quotations, 6th ed. 189-?. |
| Pleasure |
| ’Tis all my pleasure thy past toil to know, For pleased remembrance builds delight on woe. Gay.—Epi. VIII. | 1 |
| The pleasure your letter gave me surpassed all the anxiety your silence had occasioned me. Miss Kelly.—To Swift on his silence. (Roscoe’s Life of S.) | 2 |
| Sweet is pleasure after pain. Dryden.—Alexander’s Feast, Verse 3. | 3 |
| And pleasing others, learn’d herself to please. Churchill.—Epi. to Hogarth, Line 104. | 4 |
| And if you mean to profit, learn to please. Churchill.—Gotham, Book II. Line 88. (A Quotation.) | 5 |
| Yours be the care to profit, and to please. Dryden.—The Wife of Bath, Line 517. | 6 |
| No person spoke without being pleased himself, and pleasing his companions. Swift.—Voyage to the Houyhnhnms. | 7 |
| The pleasures of the vulgar are ungrounded, this, and superficial, but the other are solid and eternal. Seneca.—Of a Happy Life, Chap. I. near the end. | 8 |
| Approach love’s awful throne by just degrees, And, if thou would’st be happy, learn to please. Prior.—Solomon, Book II. Line 266. | 9 |
| And painful pleasure turns to pleasing pain. Spenser.—Fairy Queen, Book III. Canto X. Verse 60. | 10 |
| May you be all as old as I, And see your sons to manhood grow; And, many a time before you die, Be just as pleased as I am now. Bloomfield.—Richard and Kate. | 11 |
| Pleasures are ever in our hands or eyes; And when in act they cease, in prospect rise. Pope.—Essay on Man, Epi. II. Line 123. | 12 |
| If Heaven a draught of heavenly pleasure spare, One cordial in this melancholy vale, ’Tis when a youthful, loving, modest pair, In other’s arms breathe out the tender tale, Beneath the milk-white thorn that scents the evening gale! Burns.—Cotter’s Saturday Night, Verse 9. | 13 |
| But pleasures are like poppies spread, You seize the flower, its bloom is shed! Burns.—Tam O’Shanter, Line 59. | 14 |
| Or like the snow-fall in the river, A moment white—then melts for ever. Burns.—Tam O’Shanter, Line 61. | 15 |
| There is a pleasure in the pathless woods; There is a rapture on the lonely shore, There is society, where none intrudes, By the deep sea, and music in its roar. Byron.—Childe Harold, Canto IV. Stanza 178. | 16 |
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