It Is Useless To Tell One Not

And Angling Too, That Solitary Vice, What Izaak Walton Sings Or Says: The Quaint, Old, Cruel Coxcomb, In His Gullet Should Have A Hook, And A Small Trout To Pull It.

There's Naught, No Doubt, So Much The Spirit Calms As Rum And True Religion.

I Loved My Country, And I Hated Him.

Twas Twilight, And The Sunless Day Went Down Over The Waste Of Waters; Like A Veil, Which, If Withdrawn, Would But Disclose The Frown Of One Whose Hate Is Mask'd But To Assail.

By Heaven! It Is A Splendid Sight To See For One Who Hath No Friend, No Brother There.