But who can paint

Like Nature? Can imagination boast,

Amid its gay creation, hues like hers?

James Thomson (1700-1748): The Seasons. Spring. Line 465.

He lives to build, not boast, a generous race;

No tenth transmitter of a foolish face.

Richard Savage (1698-1743): The Bastard. Line 7.

Hail, Columbia! happy land!

Hail, ye heroes! heaven-born band!

Who fought and bled in Freedom's cause,

Who fought and bled in Freedom's cause,

And when the storm of war was gone,

Enjoyed the peace your valor won.

Let independence be our boast,

Ever mindful what it cost;

Ever grateful for the prize,

Let its altar reach the skies!

Joseph Hopkinson (1770-1842): Hail, Columbia!

How sweet an Ovid, Murray was our boast!

Alexander Pope (1688-1744): The Dunciad. Book iv. Line 169.

The boast of heraldry, the pomp of pow'r,

And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave,

Await alike the inevitable hour.

The paths of glory lead but to the grave.

Thomas Gray (1716-1771): Elegy in a Country Churchyard. Stanza 9.

Such is the patriot's boast, where'er we roam,—

His first, best country ever is at home.

Oliver Goldsmith (1728-1774): The Traveller. Line 73.

So stands the statue that enchants the world,

So bending tries to veil the matchless boast,

The mingled beauties of exulting Greece.

James Thomson (1700-1748): The Seasons. Summer. Line 1346.