Oh call it by some better name, For friendship sounds too cold.
A Persian's heaven is eas'ly made: 'T is but black eyes and lemonade.
I counsel thee, shut not thy heart, nor thy library.
The world meets nobody half way.
Ay, down to the dust with them, slaves as they are! From this hour let the blood in their dastardly veins, That shrunk at the first touch of Liberty's war, Be wasted for tyrants, or stagnate in chains.
We are nothing; less than nothing, and dreams. We are only what might have been, and must wait upon the tedious shores of Lethe millions of ages before we have existence, and a name.