For Monarchs Seldom Sigh In Vain.

One Or Two Of These Scoundrel Statesmen Should Be Shot Once A-year, Just To Keep The Others On Their Good Behavior.

On His Bold Visage Middle Age Had Slightly Press'd Its Signet Sage, Yet Had Not Quench'd The Open Truth And Fiery Vehemence Of Youth: Forward And Frolic Glee Was There, The Will To Do, The Soul To Dare.

Some Feelings Are To Mortals Given With Less Of Earth In Them Than Heaven.

Hard Toil Can Roughen Form And Face, And Want Call Quench The Eye's Bright Grace.

A Rusted Nail, Placed Near The Faithful Compass, Will Sway It From The Truth, And Wreck The Argosy.