By Those Who Look Close

In Misery's Darkest Cavern Known, His Useful Care Was Ever Nigh Where Hopeless Anguish Pour'd His Groan, And Lonely Want Retir'd To Die.

At Seventy-seven It Is Time To Be In Earnest.

The Whole Of Life Is But Keeping Away The Thoughts Of Death.

I Wish There Were Some Cure, Like The Lover's Leap, For All Heads Of Which Some Single Idea Has Obtained An Unreasonable And Irregular Possession.

All The Arguments Which Are Brought To Represent Poverty As No Evil Show It Evidently To Be A Great Evil.