The Quaker loves an ample brim, A hat that bows to no salaam; And dear the beaver is to him As if it never made a dam.
How bless'd the heart that has a friend. A sympathizing ear to lend.
When was ever honey made with one bee in a hive?
Extremes meet', as the whiting said with its tail in its mouth.
Lives of great men oft remind us as we o'er their pages turn, That we too may leave behind us - Letters that we ought to burn.
My books kept me from the ring, the dog-pit, the tavern, and the saloon.