A rusted nail, placed near the faithful compass, Will sway it from the truth, and wreck the argosy.

Then hush thee, my darling, take rest while you may, For strife comes with manhood, and waking with day.

He that climbs a ladder must begin at the first round.

O woman! in our hours of ease Uncertain, coy, and hard to please, And variable as the shade By the light quivering aspen made; When pain and anguish wring the brow, A ministering angel thou!

A few drops sprinkled on the torch of love make the flame blaze the brighter.

One or two of these scoundrel statesmen should be shot once a-year, just to keep the others on their good behavior.

Spangling the wave with lights as vain As pleasures in the vale of pain, That dazzle as they fade.