What A Strange Thing Is Man! And

Sweet Is Old Wine In Bottles, Ale In Barrels.

Then Stirs The Feeling Infinite, So Felt In Solitude, Where We Are Least Alone.

Let No Man Grumble When His Friends Fall Off, As They Will Do Like Leaves At The First Breeze; When Your Affairs Come Round, One Way Or T'other, Go To The Coffee House, And Take Another.

There's Naught, No Doubt, So Much The Spirit Calms As Rum And True Religion.

Death, So Called, Is A Thing Which Makes Men Weep, And Yet A Third Of Life Is Passed In Sleep.