A moment's thinking is an hour in words.
When Eve upon the first of Men The apple press'd with specious cant, Oh! what a thousand pities then That Adam was not Adamant!
O men with sisters dear, O men with mothers and wives, It is not linen you 're wearing out, But human creatures' lives!
For man may pious texts repeat, And yet religion have no inward seat
A man that's fond precociously of stirring , :;:; Must be a spoon.
When he is forsaken, Withered and shaken, What can an old man do but die?
Lives of great men oft remind us as we o'er their pages turn, That we too may leave behind us - Letters that we ought to burn.
Lives" of great men oft remind us as we o'er their pages turn, That we too may leave behind us - Letters that we ought to burn