If You Were To Make Little Fishes

The Fortunate Circumstances Of Our Lives Are Generally Found, At Last, To Be Of Our Own Producing.

Sweet Auburn, Loveliest Village Of The Plain.

And Still They Gazed, And Still The Wonder Grew, That One Small Head Could Carry All He Knew.

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.

Elegy On The Death Of A Mad Dog And In That Town A Dog Was Found, As Many Dogs There Be, Both Mongrel, Puppy, Whelp, And Hound, And Curs Of Low Degree.