Time, As He Passes Us,

Our Love Is Principle, And Has Its Root In Reason, Is Judicious, Manly, Free.

The Dogs Did Bark, The Children Screamed, Up Flew The Windows All; And Every Soul Bawled Out, Well Done! As Loud As He Could Bawl.

O Winter, Ruler Of The Inverted Year!

An Epigram Is But A Feeble Thing - With Straw In Tail, Stuck There By Way Of Sting.

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.