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Side 9 - I would not enter on my list of friends (Though graced with polished manners and fine sense Yet wanting sensibility) the man Who needlessly sets foot upon a worm.
Side 90 - Which pillage they with merry march bring home To the tent-royal of their ( emperor; Who, busied in his majesty, surveys The singing masons building roofs of gold, The civil citizens kneading up the honey, The poor mechanic porters crowding in Their heavy burdens at his narrow gate, The sad-eyed justice, with his surly hum, Delivering o'er to executors pale The lazy yawning drone.
Side 10 - The sum is this. If man's convenience, health, Or safety interfere, his rights and claims Are paramount, and must extinguish theirs, Else they are all — the meanest things that are, As free to live, and to enjoy that life, As God was free to form them at the first, Who in his sovereign wisdom made them all.
Side 46 - THESE Emmets, how little they are in our eyes ! We tread them to dust, and a troop of them dies, Without our regard or concern : Yet, as wise as we are, if we went to their school, There 's many a sluggard and many a fool Some lessons of wisdom might learn.
Side 172 - THE SNAIL. To grass, or leaf, or fruit, or wall, The snail sticks close, nor fears to fall, As if he grew there, house and all Together. Within that house secure he hides, When danger imminent betides Of storm, or other harm besides Of weather. Give but his horns the slightest touch, His self-collecting power is such, He shrinks into his house with much Displeasure. Where'er he dwells, he dwells alone, Except himself has chatties none, Well satisfied to be his own Whole treasure.
Side 192 - While o'er th' enfeebling lute his hand he flung, And to the trembling chords these tempting verses sung : " Behold ! ye pilgrims of this earth, behold ! See all but man with unearn'd pleasure gay : See her bright robes the butterfly unfold, Broke from her wintry tomb in prime of May ! What youthful bride can equal her array ? Who can with her for easy pleasure vie...
Side 108 - LITTLE inmate, full of mirth, Chirping on my kitchen hearth, Wheresoe'er be thine abode, Always harbinger of good, Pay me for thy warm retreat With a song more soft and sweet ; In return thou shalt receive Such a strain as I can give.