A Rich Rogue Nowadays Is Fit Company

The Sun Was Set; The Night Came On Apace, And Falling Dews Bewet Around The Place; The Bat Takes Airy Rounds On Leathern Wings, And The Hoarse Owl His Woeful Dirges Sings.

Give Me, Kind Heaven, A Private Station, A Mind Serene For Contemplation.

Can Love Be Controll'd By Advice?

No Retreat. No Retreat. They Must Conquer Or Die Who've No Retreat.

Why Is The Hearse With Scutcheons Blazon'd Round, And With The Nodding Plume Of Ostrich Crown'd? No; The Dead Know It Not, Nor Profit Gain; It Only Serves To Prove The Living Vain.