Britannia's shame! There took her gloomy flight, On wing impetuous, a black sullen soul . Less base the fear of death than fear of life. O Britain! infamous for suicide.

We bleed, we tremble; we forget, we smile - The mind turns fool, before the cheek is dry

Blest leisure is our curse; like that of Cain, It, makes us wander, wander earth around, To fly that tyrant Thought. As Atlas groan'd The world beneath, we groan beneath an hour.

Fond man! the vision of a moment made! Dream of a dream! and shadow of a shade!

We are not all great because we are inspired, but we feel great because we are.

Polite diseases make some idiots vain, Which, if unfortunately well, they feign.

The blood will follow where the knife is driven, The flesh will quiver where the pincers tear.