There is unspeakable pleasure attending the life of a voluntary student.
Write how you want, the critic shall show the world you could have written better.
Elegy on the Death of a Mad Dog And in that town a dog was found, As many dogs there be, Both mongrel, puppy, whelp, and hound, And curs of low degree.
A man he was to all the country dear, And passing rich with forty pounds a year.
The company of fools may first make us smile, but in the end we always feel melancholy.
Could a man live by it, it were not unpleasant employment to be a poet.