The art of angling, the cruelest, the coldest and the stupidest of pretended sports.

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.

The drying up a single tear has more, of honest fame, than shedding seas of gore.

Reason is so unreasonable, that few people can say they are in possession of it.

Such hath it been--shall be--beneath the sun The many still must labour for the one.

Father of Light! great God of Heaven! Hear'st thou the accents of despair? Can guilt like man's be e'er forgiven? Can vice atone for crimes by prayer.

To have joy, one must share it.