Night, sable goddess! from her ebon throne, In rayless majesty, now stretches forth Her leaden sceptre o'er a slumbering world.
Be wise to-day; 't is madness to defer.
What most we wish, with ease we fancy near.
The man who builds, and wants wherewith to pay, Provides a home from which to run away.
A dedication is a wooden leg.
Poor in abundance, famish'd at a feast.