I wear my Pen as others do their Sword.
And all your future lies beneath your hat.
Ah, dearer than my soul. Dearer than light, or life, or fame.
While some no other cause for life can give, but a dull habitude to live.
Lord of myself, accountable to none, but to my conscience, and my God alone.
We had an awfully good ball club that was capable of beating anybody. They were that good.
One of my resolutions is to quit smoking. I've tried for the past two years, but this year I am going to stick with it.
A Quiet Soul
Thy soul within such silent pomp did keep,
As if humanity were lull'd asleep;
So gentle was thy pilgrimage beneath,
Time's unheard feet scarce make less noise,
Or the soft journey which a planet goes:
Life seem'd all calm as its last breath.
A still tranquillity so hush'd thy breast,
As if some Halcyon were its guest,
And there had built her nest;
It hardly now enjoys a greater rest.
The Careless Good Fellow
1 A pox of this fooling, and plotting of late,
2 What a pother, and stir has it kept in the state?
3 Let the rabble run mad with suspicions, and fears,
4 Let them scuffle, and jar, till they go by the ears:
5 Their grievances never shall trouble my pate,
6 So I can enjoy my dear bottle at quiet.
7 What coxcombs were those, who would barter their ease
8 And their necks for a toy, a thin wafer and mass?
9 At old Tyburn they never had needed to swing,
10 Had they been but true subjects to drink, and their king;
11 A friend, and a bottle is all my design;
12 He has no room for treason, that's top-full of wine.
13 I mind not the members and makers of laws,
14 Let them sit or prorogue, as his majesty please:
15 Let them damn us to woollen, I'll never repine
16 At my lodging, when dead, so alive I have wine:
17 Yet oft in my drink I can hardly forbear
18 To curse them for making my claret so dear.
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A Satire, in Imitation of the Third of Juvenal
1Though much concern'd to leave my dear old friend,
2I must however his design commend
3Of fixing in the country: for were I
4As free to choose my residence, as he;
5The Peak, the Fens, the Hundreds, or Land's End,
6I would prefer to Fleet Street, or the Strand.
7What place so desert, and so wild is there
8Whose inconveniences one would not bear,
9Rather than the alarms of midnight fire,
10The falls of houses, knavery of cits,
11The plots of factions, and the noise of wits,
12And thousand other plagues, which up and down
13Each day and hour infest the cursed town?
14 As fate would hav't, on the appointed day
15Of parting hence, I met him on the way,
16Hard by Mile End, the place so fam'd of late,
17In prose, and verse for the great faction's treat;
18Here we stood still, and after compliments
19Of course, and wishing his good journey hence
20I ask'd what sudden causes made him fly
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