The Dogs Did Bark, The Children Screamed,

Ever Let The Fancy Roam, Pleasure Never Is At Home.

Fanaticism, The False Fire Of An Overheated Mind.

But Poverty, With Most Who Whimper Forth Their Long Complaints, Is Self-inflicted Woe; The Effect Of Laziness, Or Sottish Write.

There Is In Souls A Sympathy With Sounds.

The Frenchman, Easy, Debonair, And Brisk, Give Him His Lass, His Fiddle, And His Frisk, Is Always Happy, Reign Whoever May, And Laughs The Sense Of Mis'ry Far Away.