Then farewell, Horace; whom I hated so, Not for thy faults, but mine.
Never to talk to ones self is a form of hypocrisy
Dim with the mist of years, gray flits the shade of power.
What opposite discoveries we have seen! (Signs of true genius, and of empty pockets.) One makes new noses, one a guillotine, One breaks your bones, one sets them in their sockets; But vaccination certainly has been A kind antithesis to Congreve's rockets.
Are not the mountains, waves, and skies as much a part of me, as I of them?
Cervantes smiled Spain's chivalry away; A single laugh demolish'd the right arm Of his own country.