For Man May Pious Texts

My Brain Is Dull, My Sight Is Foul, I Cannot Write A Verse, Or Read-- Then, Pallas, Take Away Thine Owl, And Let Us Have A Lark Instead.

Oh! God! That Bread Should Be So Dear, And Flesh And Blood So Cheap!

Spontaneously To God Should Turn The Soul, Like The Magnetic Needle To The Pole; But What Were That Intrinsic Virtue Worth, Suppose Some Fellow, With More Zeal Than Knowledge, Fresh From St. Andrew's College, Should Nail The Conscious Needle To The North?

The Best Of Friends Fall Out, And So His Teeth Had Done Some Years Ago.

To Attempt To Advise Conceited People Is Like Whistling Against The Wind.