I learned to love despair.

Nothing so fretful, so despicable as a Scribbler, see what I am, and what a parcel of Scoundrels I have brought about my ears, and what language I have been obliged to treat them with to deal with them in their own way; - all this comes of Authorship.

I have not loved the world, nor the world me.

Dreading that climax of all human ills the inflammation of his weekly bills.

He learned the arts of riding, fencing, gunnery, And how to scale a fortress - or a nunnery.

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.

My days are in the yellow leaf; The flowers and fruits of love are gone; The worm, the canker, and the grief, Are mine alone!