I shall be but a shrimp of an author.
What female heart can gold despise? What cat 's averse to fish?
We frolic while 'tis May.
Where ignorance is bliss, 'Tis folly to be wise.
The meanest flowret of the vale, / The simplest note that swells the gale, / The common sun, the air, and skies, / To him are opening paradise.
If the best man's faults were written on his forehead, he would draw his hat over his eyes.