Fate Steals Along With Silent

Pleasure Admitted In Undue Degree, Enslaves The Will, Nor Leaves The Judgment Free.

I Pity Bashful Men, Who Feel The Pain Of Fancied Scorn And Undeserved Disdain, And Bear The Marks Upon A Blushing Face, Of Needless Shame, And Self-impos'd Disgrace.

A Story, In Which Native Humour Reigns, Is Often Useful, Always Entertains; A Graver Fact, Enlisted On Your Side, May Furnish Illustration, Well Applied; But Sedentary Weavers Of Long Tales Give Me The Fidgets, And My Patience Fails.

Men Deal With Life As Children With Their Play, Who First Misuse, Then Cast Their Toys Away.

This Fond Attachment To The Well-known Place Whence First We Started Into Life's Long Race, Maintains Its Hold With Such Unfailing Sway, We Feel It E'en In Age, And At Our Latest Day.