The heart ran o'er With silent worship of the great of old!-- The dead, but sceptred sovereigns, who still rule Our spirits from their urns.

I do detest everything which is not perfectly mutual.

Now what I love in women is, they won't Or can't do otherwise than lie, but do it. So well, the very truth seems falsehood to it.

Heaven gives its favourites-early death.

The world is a bundle of hay, Mankind are the asses that pull, Each tugs in a different way And the greatest of all is John Bull!

Romances paint at full length people's wooing. But only give a bust of marriages.

Opinions are made to be changed or how is truth to be got at?