The Art Of Angling, The

The Simple Wordsworth . . . / Who, Both By Precept And Example, Shows / That Prose Is Verse, And Verse Is Merely Prose.

So We'll Go No More A-roving So Late Into The Night, Though The Heart Still Be As Loving, And The Moon Still Be As Bright. For The Sword Outwears Its Sheath, And The Soul Outwears The Breast, And The Heart Must Pause To Breathe, And Love Itself Have Rest. Though The Night Was Made For Loving, And The Day Returns Too Soon, Yet We'll Go No More A-roving By The Light Of The Moon.

A Thirst For Gold, The Beggar's Vice, Which Can But Overwhelm The Meanest Hearts.

And Those Who Saw, It Did Surprise, Such Drops Could Fall From Human Eyes.

Her Great Merit Is Finding Out Mine; There Is Nothing So Amiable As Discernment.