I Ought To Be Thy Adam, But

Unhappy Man! Do You Share My Maddness? Have You Drunk Also Of The Intoxicating Draught? Hear Me; Let Me Reveal My Tale, And You Will Dash The Cup From Your Lips!

Our Feelings Probably Are Not Less Strong At Fifty Than They Were Ten Or Fifteen Years Before; But They Have Changed Their Objects, And Dwell On Far Different Prospects. At Five-and-thirty A Man Thinks Of What His Own Existence Is; When The Maturity Of Age Has Grown Into Its Autumn, He Is Wrapt Up In That Of Others. The Loss Of Wife Or Child Then Becomes More Deplorable, As Being Impossible To Repair; For No Fresh Connection Can Give Us Back The Companion Of Our Earlier Years, Nor A "new-sprung Race" Compensate For That, Whose Career We Hoped To See Run.

Life, Although It May Only Be An Accumulation Of Anguish, Is Dear To Me, And I Will Defend It.

Ah! It Is Well For The Unfortunate To Be Resigned, But For The Guilty There Is No Peace.

I, A Miserable Wretch, Haunted By A Curse That Shut Up Every Avenue To Enjoyment.