Man Wants But Little Here Below, Nor

To Make A Fine Gentleman, Several Trades Are Required, But Chiefly A Barber.

To Me More Dear, Congenial To My Heart, One Native Charm, Than All The Gloss Of Art.

I Fancy The Character Of A Poet Is In Every Country The Same,--fond Of Enjoying The Present, Careless Of The Future; His Conversation That Of A Man Of Sense, His Actions Those Of A Fool.

True Generosity Is A Duty As Indispensably Necessary As Those Imposed On Us By Law.

But Me, Not Destined Such Delights To Share, My Prime Of Life In Wandering Spent And Care; Impell'd, With Steps Unceasing, To Pursue Some Fleeting Good, That Mocks Me With The View That, Like The Circle Bounding Earth And Skies, Allures From Far, Yet, As I Follow, Flies; My Fortune Leads To Traverse Reams Alone, And Find No Spot Of All The World My Own.