My Tears Must Stop, For Every Drop

When He Is Forsaken, Withered And Shaken, What Can An Old Man Do But Die?

Experience Enables Me To Depose To The Comfort And Blessing That Literature Can Prove In Seasons Of Sickness And Sorrow.

Tis Like The Birthday Of The World, When Earth Was Born In Bloom; The Light Is Made Of Many Dyes, The Air Is All Perfume: There's Crimson Buds, And White And Blue, The Very Rainbow Showers Have Turned To Blossoms Where They Fell, And Sown The Earth With Flowers.

A Certain Portion Of The Human Race Has Certainly A Taste For Being Diddled.

Pity It Is To Slay The Meanest Thing.