For Man May Pious Texts Repeat, And

I Resolved That, Like The Sun, As Long As My Day Lasted, I Would Look On The Bright Side Of Everything.

Whilst Breezy Waves Toss Up Their Silvery Spray.

Fuss Is The Froth Of Business.

No Blessed Leisure For Love Or Hope, But Only Time For Grief.

Well, Something Must Be Done For May, The Time Is Drawing Nigh-- To Figure In The Catalogue, And Woo The Public Eye. Something I Must Invent And Paint; But Oh My Wit Is Not Like One Of Those Kind Substantives That Answer Who And What?