Still Are The Thoughts To

He Is The Best Sailor Who Can Steer Within Fewest Points Of The Wind, And Exact A Motive Power Out Of The Greatest Obstacles.

Honour Is A Homicide And A Bloodspiller, That Gangs About Making Frays In The Street; But Credit Is A Decent Honest Man, That Sits At Hame And Makes The Pat Play.

I Will Tear This Folly From My Heart, Though Every Fibre Bleed As I Rend It Away!

Still From The Sire The Son Shall Hear Of The Stern Strife, And Carnage Drear, Of Flodden's Fatal Field, When Shiver'd Was Fair Scotland's Spear, And Broken Was Her Shield!

If A Faultless Poem Could Be Produced, I Am Satisfied It Would Tire The Critics Themselves; And Annoy The Whole Reading World With The Spleen.