We are all the fools of time and terror: Days Steal on us and steal from us; yet we live, Loathing our life, and dreading still to die.

A thirst for gold, The beggar's vice, which can but overwhelm The meanest hearts.

I was accused of every monstrous vice by public rumour and private rancour; my name, which had been a knightly or noble one, was tainted. I felt that, if what was whispered, and muttered, and murmured, was true, I was unfit for England; if false, England was unfit for me.

When falls the Coliseum, Rome shall fall; And when Rome falls--the World.

How sweet and soothing is this hour of calm! I thank thee, night! for thou has chased away these horrid bodements which, amidst the throng, I could not dissipate; and with the blessing of thy benign and quiet influence now will I to my couch, although to rest is almost wronging such a night as this.

Then farewell, Horace; whom I hated so, Not for thy faults, but mine.

Folly loves the martyrdom of fame.