Let The Galled Jade Wince; Our Withers

No Metal Can--no, Not The Hangman's Axe--bear Half The Keenness Of Thy Sharp Envy.

Prosperity's The Very Bond Of Love.

The Weariest And Most Loathed Worldly Life, That Age, Ache, Penury And Imprisonment Can Lay On Nature Is A Paradise, To What We Fear Of Death.

Love Is A Smoke Made With The Fume Of Sighs.

Tis Often Seen Adoption Strives With Nature; And Choice Breeds A Native Slip To Us From Foreign Lands.