A Pauper Traveller Will Sing Before A

Many Suffer From The Incurable Disease Of Writing, And It Becomes Chronic In Their Sick Minds.

Drooping Along The Ground The Vine Misses Its Widowed Elm.

Remote Though Your Farm May Be, It's Something To Be The Lord Of One Green Lizard-and Free.

Revenge, We Find, The Abject Pleasure Of An Abject Mind.

Bad Men Hate Sin Through Fear Of Punishment; Good Men Hate Sin Through Their Love Of Virtue.