Be England what she will, With all her faults she is my country still.

Little do such men know the toil, the pains, the daily, nightly racking of the brains, to range the thoughts, the matter to digest, to cull fit phrases, and reject the rest.

Men the most infamous are fond of fame, And those who fear not guilt yet start at shame.

By different methods different men excel, but where is he who can do all things well?

Keep up appearances; there lies the test. The world will give thee credit for the rest.

The laws I love; the lawyers I suspect.

England a fortune-telling host, As num'rous as the stars, could boast; Matrons, who toss the cup, and see The grounds of Fate in grounds of tea.