Though I love my country, I do not love my countrymen.

My turn of mind is so given to taking things in the absurd point of view, that it breaks out in spite of me every now and then.

Yet smelt roast meat, beheld a huge fire shine, And cooks in motion with their clean arms bared.

O Fame! if I ever took delight in thy praises, Twas less for the sake of thy high-sounding phrases, Than to see the bright eyes of the dear one discover The thought that I was not unworthy to love her.

Nothing can confound a wise man more than laughter from a dunce.

This quiet sail is as a noiseless wing To waft me from distraction.

Grieving, if aught inanimate e'er grieves, Over the unreturning brave.