Through life's dark road his sordid way he wends; an incarnation of fat dividends.

209

Behold! in Liberty's unclouded blaze, We lift our heads, a race of other days.

204

The preacher, too, his Sunday theme lays down, To know what last new folly fills the town; Lively or sad, life's meanest, mightiest things, The fate of fighting cocks, or fighting king.

152

Trade hardly deems the busy day begun, Till his keen eye along the sheet has run; The blooming daughter throws her needle by, And reads her schoolmate's marriage with a sigh; While the grave mother puts her glasses on, And gives a tear to some old crony gone.

149

Yes, social friend, I love thee well, In learned doctor's spite; Thy clouds all other clouds dispel, And lap me in delight.

111