Fattened In Vice, So Callous

Happy The Man, And Happy He Alone, He, Who Can Call Today His Own.

For Truth Has Such A Face And Such A Mien, As To Be Loved Needs Only To Be Seen.

Joy Rul'd The Day, And Love The Night.

The Scum That Rises Upmost, When The Nation Boils.

None, None Descends Into Himself, To Find The Secret Imperfections Of His Mind: But Every One Is Eagle-ey'd To See Another's Faults, And His Deformity.