In Love We Are All Fools Alike.

Is There No Hope? The Sick Man Said, The Silent Doctor Shook His Head, And Took His Leave With Signs Of Sorrow, Despairing Of His Fee To-morrow.

Lest Men Suspect Your Tale Untrue, Keep Probability In View.

What Happiness The Rural Maid Attends, In Cheerful Labour While Each Day She Spends! She Gratefully Receives What Heav'n Has Sent, And, Rich In Poverty, Enjoys Content.

Thus Shadow Owes Its Birth To Light.

Why Is The Hearse With Scutcheons Blazon'd Round, And With The Nodding Plume Of Ostrich Crown'd? No; The Dead Know It Not, Nor Profit Gain; It Only Serves To Prove The Living Vain.