Keep Thy Smooth Words And Juggling Homilies

Which Cheers The Sad, Revives The Old, Inspires The Young, Makes Weariness Forget His Toil, And Fear Her Danger; Opens A New World When This, The Present, Palls.

The Dew Of Compassion Is A Tear.

I Was Accused Of Every Monstrous Vice By Public Rumour And Private Rancour; My Name, Which Had Been A Knightly Or Noble One, Was Tainted. I Felt That, If What Was Whispered, And Muttered, And Murmured, Was True, I Was Unfit For England; If False, England Was Unfit For Me.

I Have A Great Mind To Believe In Christianity For The Mere Pleasure Of Fancying I May Be Damned.

Nothing So Difficult As A Beginning In Poesy, Unless Perhaps The End.