Toil For The Brave! The Brave That

What Peaceful Hours I Once Enjoy'd! How Sweet Their Memory Still! But They Have Left An Aching Void The World Can Never Fill.

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

Ten Thousand Casks, Forever Dribbling Out Their Base Contents, Touch'd By The Midas Finger Of The State, Bleed Gold For Ministers To Sport Away. Drink, And Be Mad Then; 'tis Your Country Bids!

My Soul Is Sick With Every Day's Report Of Wrong And Outrage With Which Earth Is Filled.

Forgot The Blush That Virgin Fears Impart To Modest Cheeks, And Borrowed One From Art.