If the best man's faults were written on his forehead, he would draw his hat over his eyes.
Ah, tell them they are men!
Bright-eyed Fancy, hov'ring o'er, Scatters from her pictured urn Thoughts that breathe and words that burn.
A fav'rite has no friend!
Chill penury repress'd their noble rage, And froze the genial current of the soul.
Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere, Heaven did a recompense as largely send: He gave to mis'ry (all he had) a tear, He gained from Heav'n ('t was all he wish'd) a friend.