Life, To Be Sure, Is Nothing Much

Happy Bridegroom, Hesper Brings All Desired And Timely Things. All Whom Morning Sends To Roam, Hesper Loves To Lead Them Home. Home Return Who Him Behold, Child To Mother, Sheep To Fold, Bird To Nest From Wandering Wide: Happy Bridegroom, Seek Your Bride.

Poetry Is Not The Thing Said, But The Way Of Saying It.

I Find Cambridge An Asylum, In Every Sense Of The Word.

There, By The Starlit Fences The Wanderer Halts And Hears My Soul That Lingers Sighing About The Glimmering Weirs.

Terence, This Is Stupid Stuff: You Eat Your Victuals Fast Enough; There Can't Be Much Amiss, 'tis Clear, To See The Rate You Drink Your Beer. But Oh, Good Lord, The Verse You Make, It Gives A Chap The Belly-ache. The Cow, The Old Cow, She Is Dead; It Sleeps Well The Horned Head: We Poor Lads, 'tis Our Turn Now To Hear Such Tunes As Killed The Cow. Pretty Friendship 'tis To Rhyme Your Friends To Death Before Their Time. Moping, Melancholy Mad: Come, Pipe A Tune To Dance To, Lad.