The Pregnant Quarry Teem'd With Human Form.

I Fancy The Character Of A Poet Is In Every Country The Same,--fond Of Enjoying The Present, Careless Of The Future; His Conversation That Of A Man Of Sense, His Actions Those Of A Fool.

But Me, Not Destined Such Delights To Share, My Prime Of Life In Wandering Spent And Care; Impell'd, With Steps Unceasing, To Pursue Some Fleeting Good, That Mocks Me With The View That, Like The Circle Bounding Earth And Skies, Allures From Far, Yet, As I Follow, Flies; My Fortune Leads To Traverse Reams Alone, And Find No Spot Of All The World My Own.

Tenderness Is A Virtue.

Our Pleasures Are Short, And Can Only Charm At Intervals; Love Is A Method Of Protraction Our Greatest Pleasure.

In Arguing One Should Meet Serious Pleading With Humor, And Humor With Serious Pleading.