The Rank Is But The Guinea's Stamp,

Not The Bee Upon The Blossom, In The Pride O' Sunny Noon; Not The Little Sporting Fairy, All Beneath The Simmer Moon; Not The Poet, In The Moment Fancy Lightens In His E'e, Kens The Pleasure, Feels The Rapture, That Thy Presence Gi'es To Me.

Be Briton Still To Britain True, Among Oursel's United; For Never But By British Hands Maun British Wrangs Be Righted.

My Son, These Maxims Make A Rule An Lump Them Ay Thegither: The Rigid Righteous Is A Fool, The Rigid Wise Anither.

Your Lines, I Maintain It, Are Poetry, And Good Poetry.... Friendship... Had I Been So Blest As To Have Met With You In Time, Might Have Led Me - God Of Love Only Knows Where.

What's Done We Partly May Compute, But Know Not What's Resisted.