Pythagoras, Locke, Socrates - but pages might be filled up, as vainly as before, with the sad usage of all sorts of sages, who in his life-time, each was deemed a bore! The loftiest minds outrun their tardy ages.

To withdraw myself from myself has ever been my sole, my entire, my sincere motive in scribbling at all.

The Niobe of nations! there she stands.

I depart, Whither I know not; but the hour's gone by When Albion's lessening shores could grieve or glad mine eye.

A small drop of ink makes thousands, perhaps millions... think.

May Moorland weavers boast Pindaric skill, And tailors' lays be longer than their bill! While punctual beaux reward the grateful notes, And pay for poems--when they pay for coats.

My boat is on the shore, And my bark is on the sea.