As For Murmurs, Mother, We Grumble A

Embosom'd In The Deep Where Holland Lies. Methinks Her Patient Sons Before Me Stand, Where The Broad Ocean Leans Against The Land.

I Have Visited Many Countries, And Have Been In Cities Without Number, Yet Never Did I Enter A Town Which Could Not Produce Ten Or Twelve Little Great Men; All Fancying Themselves Known To The Rest Of The World, And Complimenting Each Other Upon Their Extensive Reputation.

I Learn Several Great Truths; As That It Is Impossible To See Into The Ways Of Futurity, That Punishment Always Attends The Villain, That Love Is The Fond Soother Of The Human Breast.

Man Wants But Little Here Below, Nor Wants That Little Long.

Write How You Want, The Critic Shall Show The World You Could Have Written Better.