Wholesome Solitude, The Nurse Of Sense!

Dogs, Ye Have Had Your Day!

Then, At The Last And Only Couplet Fraught With Some Unmeaning Thing They Call A Thought, A Needless Alexandrine Ends The Song, That, Like A Wounded Snake, Drags Its Slow Length Along.

Is It, In Heav'n, A Crime To Love Too Well?

But Thousands Die Without Or This Or That, Die, And Endow A College Or A Cat.

I Am Satisfied To Trifle Away My Time, Rather Than Let It Stick By Me.