Sir, I Have Quarrelled With My Wife;

He Kept At True Good Humor's Mark The Social Flow Of Pleasure's Tide: He Never Made A Brow Look Dark, Nor Caused A Tear, But When He Died.

The Mountain Sheep Are Sweeter, But The Valley Sheep Are Fatter. We Therefore Deemed It Meeter To Carry Off The Latter.

Clouds On Clouds, In Volumes Driven, Curtain Round The Vault Of Heaven.

A Book That Furnishes No Quotations, Is Me Judice, No Book, — It Is A Plaything.

How Troublesome Is Day! It Calls Us From Our Sleep Away; It Bids Us From Our Pleasant Dreams Awake, And Sends Us Forth To Keep Or Break Our Promises To Pay. How Troublesome Is Day!