Where London's Column, Pointing At The Skies,

Pleased To The Last, He Crops The Flowery Food, And Licks The Hand Just Raised To Shed His Blood.

We Think Our Fathers Fools, So Wise We Grow. Our Wiser Sons, No Doubt Will Think Us So.

What Will A Child Learn Sooner Than A Song?

The Greatest Advantage I Know Of Being Thought A Wit By The World Is, That It Gives One The Greater Freedom Of Playing The Fool.

On Her White Breast A Sparkling Cross She Wore, Which Jews Might Kiss And Infidels Adore.