The Sickening Pang Of Hope Deferr'd.

A Mother's Pride, A Father's Joy.

Every Hour Has Its End.

O, What A Tangled Web We Weave When First We Practise To Deceive!

Well, Then--our Course Is Chosen--spread The Sail-- Heave Oft The Lead, And Mark The Soundings Well-- Look To The Helm, Good Master--many A Shoal Marks This Stern Coast, And Rocks, Where Sits The Siren Who, Like Ambition, Lures Men To Their Ruin.

Here Is Neither Want Of Appetite Nor Mouths, Pray Heaven We Be Not Scant Of Meat Or Mirth.