No more we meet in yonder bowers Absence has made me prone to roving; But older, firmer hearts than ours, Have found monotony in loving.

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.

The devil hath not, in all his quiver's choice, An arrow for the heart like a sweet voice.

What makes a regiment of soldiers a more noble object of view than the same mass of mob? Their arms, their dresses, their banners, and the art and artificial symmetry of their position and movements.

The poor dog, in life the firmest friend, The first to welcome, foremost to defend, Whose honest heart is still the master's own, Who labours, fights, lives, breathes for him alone, Unhonour'd falls, unnoticed all his worth, Denied in heaven the soul he held on earth, While man, vain insect hopes to be forgiven, And claims himself a sole exclusive heaven.

A legal broom's a moral chimney-sweeper, And that's the reason he himself's so dirty

Pure friendship's well-feigned blush.