No, Freedom Has A Thousand

A Tale Should Be Judicious, Clear, Succinct; The Language Plain, And Incidents Well Link'd; Tell Not As New What Ev'ry Body Knows; And, New Or Old, Still Hasten To A Close.

When One That Holds Communion With The Skies Has Fill'd His Urn Where These Pure Waters Rise, And Once More Mingles With Us Meaner Things, 'tis E'en As If An Angel Shook His Wings.

An Idler Is A Watch That Wants Both Hands; As Useless If It Goes As When It Stands.

Could He With Reason Murmur At His Case, Himself Sole Author Of His Own Disgrace?

All We Behold Is Miracle.