The world is a bundle of hay, Mankind are the asses that pull, Each tugs in a different way And the greatest of all is John Bull!

Yet he was jealous, though he did not show it, For jealousy dislikes the world to know it.

And angling too, that solitary vice, What Izaak Walton sings or says: The quaint, old, cruel coxcomb, in his gullet Should have a hook, and a small trout to pull it.

In general I do not draw well with literary men -- not that I dislike them but I never know what to say to them after I have praised their last publication.

He makes a solitude, and calls it - peace!

Muse of the many twinkling feet, whose charms are now extending up from legs to arms.

Tis the perception of the beautiful, A fine extension of the faculties, Platonic, universal, wonderful, Drawn from the stars, and filtered through the skies, Without which life would be extremely dull