Oh who is that young sinner with the handcuffs on his wrist? And what has he been after that they groan and shake their fists? And wherefore is he wearing such a conscience-stricken air? Oh they're taking him to prison for the colour of his hair.

Good religious poetry... is likely to be most justly appreciated and most discriminately relished by the undevout.

We now to peace and darkness And earth and thee restore Thy creature that thou madest And wilt cast forth no more.

A moment's thought would have shown him. But a moment is a long time, and thought is a painful process.

Shoulder the sky, my lad, and drink your ale.

Some men are more interesting than their books but my book is more interesting than its man.

Tomorrow, more's the pity, Away we both must hie, To air the ditty and to earth I.