Pampered vanity is a better thing perhaps than starved pride.

Ah! happy is the man whose early lot Hath made him master of a furnish'd cot; Who trains the vine that round his window grows, And after setting sun his garden hoes; Whose wattled pails his own enclosure shield, Who toils not daily in another's field.

It is so seldom that a young fellow has any inclination for the company of an old man. . .

The plainest case in many words entangling.

Oh swiftly glides the bonnie boat, Just parted from the shore, And to the fisher's chorus-note Soft moves the dipping oar.

I can bear scorpion's stings, tread fields of fire, in frozen gulfs of cold eternal lie, be tossed aloft through tracts of endless void, but cannot live in shame.

My day is closed! the gloom of night is come! a hopeless darkness settles over my fate.