To Attempt To Advise Conceited People Is

Extremes Meet', As The Whiting Said With Its Tail In Its Mouth.

For My Part, Getting Up Seems Not So Easy By Half As Lying.

Sweet Are The Little Brooks That Run O'er Pebbles Glancing In The Sun, Singing In Soothing Tones.

O Bed! O Bed! Delicious Bed! That Heaven Upon Earth To The Weary Head.

Gold! Gold! Gold! Gold! Bright And Yellow, Hard And Cold!