Nathaniel Cotton

If solid happiness we prize,
Within our breast this jewel lies,
And they are fools who roam;
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If solid happiness we prize,
Within our breast this jewel lies,
And they are fools who roam;
The world has nothing to bestow,
From our own selves our bliss must flow,
And that dear hut,--our home.

Mental pleasure are never cloy; unlike those of the body, they are increased by repetition, approved by reflection, and strengthened read more

Mental pleasure are never cloy; unlike those of the body, they are increased by repetition, approved by reflection, and strengthened by enjoyment.

To-morrow, didst thou say?
Methought I heard Horatio say, To-morrow!
Go to--I will not hear it. To-morrow!
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To-morrow, didst thou say?
Methought I heard Horatio say, To-morrow!
Go to--I will not hear it. To-morrow!
'Tis a sharper--who stakes his penury
Against thy plenty--takes thy ready cash,
And pays thee naught but wishes, hopes, and promises,
The currency of idiots--injurious bankrupt,
That gulls the easy creditor!

We'll therefore relish with content,
Whate'er kind providence has sent,
Nor aim beyond our pow'r;
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We'll therefore relish with content,
Whate'er kind providence has sent,
Nor aim beyond our pow'r;
For, if our stock be very small,
'Tis prudent to enjoy it all,
Nor lose the present hour.

I stew all night in my own grease.

I stew all night in my own grease.