Lawyers, I Suppose, Were Children Once.

Oh For A Tongue To Curse The Slave Whose Treason, Like A Deadly Blight, Comes O'er The Councils Of The Brave, And Blasts Them In Their Hour Of Might!

Lawyers, I Suppose, Were Children Once.

Fly Not Yet; 't Is Just The Hour When Pleasure, Like The Midnight Flower That Scorns The Eye Of Vulgar Light, Begins To Bloom For Sons Of Night And Maids Who Love The Moon.

I Cannot Sit And Think; Books Think For Me.

A Laugh Is Worth A Hundred Groans In Any Market.