A Clear Fire, A Clean Hearth, And

Oh Call It By Some Better Name, For Friendship Sounds Too Cold.

The Muses Were Dumb While Apollo Lectured.

Take All The Pleasures Of All The Spheres, And Multiply Each Through Endless Years,- One Minute Of Heaven Is Worth Them All.

All, All Are Gone, The Old Familiar Faces.

The Man Must Have A Rare Recipe For Melancholy, Who Can Be Dull In Fleet Street.