War's A Game, Which, Were Their Subjects

Admirals Extolled For Standing Still, Or Doing Nothing With A Deal Of Skill.

That Good Diffused May More Abundant Grow.

I Pity Them Greatly, But I Must Be Mum, For How Could We Do Without Sugar And Rum?

Come, Evening, Once Again, Season Of Peace; Return, Sweet Evening, And Continue Long! Methinks I See Thee In The Streaky West, With Matron Step, Slow Moving, While The Night Treads On Thy Sweeping Train; One Hand Employ'd In Letting Fall The Curtain Of Repose On Bird And Beast, The Other Charged For Man With Sweet Oblivion Of The Cares Of Day.

Lived In His Saddle, Loved The Chase, The Course, And Always, Ere He Mounted, Kiss'd His Horse.