A Man Of Eighty Has

And If I Laugh At Any Mortal Thing, 'tis That I May Not Weep.

And Wrinkles, The Damned Democrats, Won't Flatter.

Yes, Love Indeed Is Light From Heaven; A Spark Of That Immortal Fire With Angels Shared, By Allah Given To Lift From Earth Our Low Desire.

Your Thief Looks Exactly Like The Rest, Or Rather Better; 'tis Only At The Bar, And In The Dungeon, That Wise Men Know Your Felon By His Features.

A Legal Broom's A Moral Chimney-sweeper, And That's The Reason He Himself's So Dirty