'tis Very Certain The Desire Of Life

Grief Is Fantastical, And Loves The Dead, And The Apparel Of The Grave.

The Art Of Angling, The Cruelest, The Coldest And The Stupidest Of Pretended Sports.

Of All The Horrid, Hideous Notes Of Woe, Sadder Than Owl-songs Or The Midnight Blast; Is That Portentous Phrase, "i Told You So.

Oh, Nature's Noblest Gift, My Grey Goose Quill, Slave Of My Thoughts, Obedient To My Will, Torn From The Parent Bird To Form A Pen, That Mighty Instrument Of Little Men.

Fools Are My Theme, Let Satire Be My Song.