I Hate The French Because They Are

And The Weak Soul, Within Itself Unbless'd, Leans For All Pleasure On Another's Breast.

At Night Returning, Every Labour Sped, He Sits Him Down, The Monarch Of A Shed; Smiles By His Cheerful Fire, And Round Surveys His Children's Looks, That Brighten At The Blaze; While His Lov'd Partner, Boastful Of Her Hoard, Displays Her Cleanly Platter On The Board.

Religion Does What Philosophy Could Never Do; It Shows The Equal Dealings Of Heaven To The Happy And The Unhappy, And Levels All Human Enjoyments To Nearly The Same Standard. It Gives To Both Rich And Poor The Same Happiness Hereafter, And Equal Hopes To Aspire After It.

As In Some Irish Houses, Where Things Are So-so, One Gammon Of Bacon Hangs Up For A Show; But, For Eating A Rasher Of What They Take Pride In, They'd As Soon Think Of Eating The Pan It Is Fried In.

You, That Are Going To Be Married, Think Things Can Never Be Done Too Fast: But We That Are Old, And Know What We Are About, Must Elope Methodically, Madam.