He who hath not a dram of folly in his mixture hath pounds of much worse matter in his composition.
Oh, the pleasure of eating my dinner alone!
I'd like to grow very old as slowly as possible.
When twilight dews are falling soft Upon the rosy sea, love, I watch the star whose beam so oft Has lighted me to thee, love.
Merit, God knows, is very little rewarded.
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.