I counsel thee, shut not thy heart, nor thy library.

If thou would'st have me sing and play As once I play'd and sung, First take this time-worn lute away, And bring one freshly strung.

A garden was the primitive prison, till man with Promethean felicity and boldness, luckily sinned himself out of it.

Credulity is the man's weakness, but the child's strength.

Of all sound of all bells... most solemn and touching is the peal which rings out the Old Year.

I counsel thee, shut not thy heart, nor thy library.

The teller of a mirthful tale has latitude allowed him. We are content with less than absolute truth.