Needy knife-grinder! whither are ye going? Rough is the road, your wheel is out of order; Bleak blows the blast-your hat has got a hole in it. So have your breeches.
Indecision and delays are the parents of failure.
Intimately concerned as we are with the system of Europe, it does not follow that we are therefore called upon to mix ourselves onevery occasion, with a restless and meddling activity, in the concerns of the nations which surround us.
When our perils are past, shall our gratitude sleep?
Whene’er with haggard eyes I view This dungeon that I’m rotting in, I think of those companions true Who studied with me at the U- Niversity of Gottingen.
If hush’d the loud whirlwind that ruffled the deep, The sky if no longer dark tempests deform; When our perils are past shall our gratitude sleep? No! Here’s to the pilot that weather’d the storm!
There is nothing I know of so sublime as a fact.
But of all plagues, good Heaven, thy wrath can send, Save me, oh, save me, from the candid friend!
Man, only – rash, refined, presumptuous man, Starts from his rank, and mars creation’s plan.
So down thy hill, romantic Ashbourn, glides The Derby dilly, carrying three INSIDES.