I Live Not In Myself, But I

The Premises Are So Delightfully Extensive, That Two People Might Live Together Without Ever Seeing, Hearing Or Meeting.

There's Music In The Sighing Of A Reed; There's Music In The Gushing Of A Rill; There's Music In All Things, If Men Had Ears; The Earth Is But The Music Of The Spheres.

Eternity Forbids Thee To Forget.

Physicians Mend Or End Us, Secundum Artem; But Although We Sneer - In Health - When Ill We Call Them To Attend Us, Without The Least Propensity To Jeer

Bread Has Been Made (indifferent) From Potatoes; And Galvanism Has Set Some Corpses Grinning, But Has Not Answer'd Like The Apparatus Of The Humane Society's Beginning, By Which Men Are Unsuffocated Gratis: What Wondrous New Machines Have Late Been Spinning.