The Laws I Love; The Lawyers I

Childhood, Who Like An April Morn Appears, Sunshine And Rain, Hopes Clouded O'er With Fears.

Enough Of Self, That Darling Luscious Theme, O'er Which Philosophers In Raptures Dream; Of Which With Seeming Disregard They Write Then Prizing Most When Most They Seem To Slight.

Even In A Hero's Heart Discretion Is The Better Part.

Drawn By Conceit From Reason's Plan How Vain Is That Poor Creature Man; How Pleas'd In Ev'ry Paltry Elf To Grate About That Thing Himself.

Nature, Through All Her Works, In Great Degree, Borrows A Blessing From Variety. Music Itself Her Needful Aid Requires To Rouse The Soul, And Wake Our Dying Fires.