Romances I ne'er read like those I have seen.
Such is your cold coquette, who can't say "No," And won't say "Yes," and keeps you on and off-ing On a lee-shore, till it begins to blow, Then sees your heart wreck'd, with an inward scoffing.
Sweet is old wine in bottles, ale in barrels.
Ada! sole daughter of my house and heart.
Of all tales 'tis the saddest--and more sad, Because it makes us smile.
The keenest pangs the wretched find Are rapture to the dreary void, The leafless desert of the mind, The waste of feelings unemployed.