Age And Want Sit Smiling At The

A Family Is But Too Often A Commonwealth Of Malignants.

Nor Public Flame, Nor Private, Dares To Shine; Nor Human Spark Is Left, Nor Glimpse Divine! Lo! Thy Dread Empire, Chaos! Is Restored; Light Dies Before Thy Uncreating Word: Thy Hand, Great Anarch! Lets The Curtain Fall; And Universal Darkness Buries All.

All Looks Yellow To A Jaundiced Eye.

A Long, Exact, And Serious Comedy; In Every Scene Some Moral Let It Teach, And, If It Can, At Once Both Please And Preach.

Fly, Dotard, Fly! With Thy Wise Dreams And Fables Of The Sky.