Oh, Poverty Parts Good Company.

You Will, I Trust, Resemble A Forest Plant, Which Has Indeed, By Some Accident, Been Brought Up In The Greenhouse, And Thus Rendered Delicate And Effeminate, But Which Regains Its Native Firmness And Tenacity, When Exposed For A Season To The Winter Air.

A Christmas Gambol Oft Could Cheer The Poor Man's Heart Through Half The Year.

In Man's Most Dark Extremity Oft Succour Dawns From Heaven.

The Chain Of Friendship, However Bright, Does Not Stand The Attrition Of Constant Close Contact.

Call It Not Vain: They Do Not Err Who Say That When The Poet Dies Mute Nature Mourns Her Worshipper, And Celebrates His Obsequies.