Fools are my theme, let satire be my song.

And the small ripple spilt upon the beach Scarcely o'erpass'd the cream of your champagne, When o'er the brim the sparkling bumpers reach, That spring-dew of the spirit! the heart's rain! Few things surpass old wine; and they may preach Who please,—the more because they preach in vain,— Let us have wine and women, mirth and laughter, Sermons and soda-water the day after.

So sweet the blush of bashfulness, E'en pity scarce can wish it less!

It is not for minds like ours to give or to receive flatter; yet the praises of sincerity have ever been permitted to the voice of friendship

I deny nothing, but doubt everything.

So bright the tear in Beauty's eye, Love half regrets to kiss it dry.

That prose is a verse, and verse is a prose; convincing all, by demonstrating plain – poetic souls delight in prose insane