I wish my deadly foe, no worse

We rise with the lark and go to bed with the lamb.

Come little babe, come silly soul, Thy father’s shame, thy mother’s grief, Born as I doubt to all our dole, And to thyself unhappy chief: Sing lullaby, and lap it warm, Poor soul that thinks no creature harm.

In the merry month of May, In a morn by break of day, Forth I walk’d by the wood-side Whenas May was in his pride: There I spièd all alone Phillida and Coridon.

To act the part of a true friend requires more conscientious feeling than to fill with credit and complacency any other station or capacity in social life.

I presume your Grand Children are with you, and doubt not that they will afford you every consolation that existing Circumstances will admit. Present me affectionately and sympathetically to them they also have lost a protecting …

Essential honour must be in a friend, Not such as every breath fans to and fro; But born within, is its own judge and end, And dares not sin, though sure that none should know. Where friendship's spoke, honesty's understood; For none can …