Temp'rate In Every Place--abroad, At Home, Thence

Hence, In These Times, Untouch'd The Pages Lie, And Slumber Out Their Immortality.

Better To Love Amiss Than Nothing To Have Loved.

O Days Remember'd Well! Remember'd All! The Bitter Sweet, The Honey And The Gall; Those Garden Rambles In The Silent Night, Those Trees So Shady, And That Moon Se Bright, That Thickset Alley By The Arbor Clos'd, That Woodbine Seat Where We At Last Repos'd; And Then The Hopes That Came And Then Were Gone, Quick As The Clouds Beneath The Moon Past On.

And Took For Truth The Test Of Ridicule.

In General Satire, Every Man Perceives A Slight Attack, Yet Neither Fears Nor Grieves.