My Hope, My Heaven, My Trust Must

Good Even, Good Fair Moon, Good Even To Thee. I Prithee, Dear Moon, Now Show To Me The Form And The Features, The Speech And Degree, Of The Man That True Lover Of Mine Shall Be.

If A Faultless Poem Could Be Produced, I Am Satisfied It Would Tire The Critics Themselves; And Annoy The Whole Reading World With The Spleen.

Discretion Is The Perfection Of Reason, And A Guide To Us In All The Duties Of Life.

Give Me An Honest Laugher.

In Prosperous Times I Have Sometimes Felt My Fancy And Powers Of Language Flag, But Adversity Is To Me At Least A Tonic And Bracer.