And silence sounds no worse than cheers After earth has stopped the ears.

Strapped, noosed, nighing his hour, He stood and counted them and cursed his luck; And then the clock collected in the tower Its strength, and struck.

Why, if 'tis dancing you would be, There's brisker pipes than poetry. Say, for what were hop-yards meant, Or why was Burton built on Trent? Oh many a peer of England brews Livelier liquor than the Muse, And malt does more than Milton can To justify God's ways to man. Ale, man, ale's the stuff to drink For fellows whom it hurts to think: Look into the pewter pot To see the world as the world's not.

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

Nature, not content with denying him the ability to think, has endowed him with the ability to write.

I find Cambridge an asylum, in every sense of the word.

And silence sounds no worse than cheers After earth has stopped the ears.