Chess Is A Sad Waste Of Brains.

He Hath A Share Of Man's Intelligence, But No Share Of Man's Falsehood.

What Can They See In The Longest Kingly Line In Europe, Save That It Runs Back To A Successful Soldier?

Whose Lenient Sorrows Find Relief, Whose Joys Are Chastened By Their Grief.

In Man's Most Dark Extremity Oft Succour Dawns From Heaven.

O Come Ye In Peace Here, Or Come Ye In War, Or To Dance At Our Bridal, Young Lord Lochinvar?