Ill Fares The Land, To Hastening Ills

Some Fleeting Good, That Mocks Me With The View.

But Times Are Alter'd; Trade's Unfeeling Train Usurp The Land, And Dispossess The Swain; Along The Lawn, Where Scatter'd Hamlets Rose, Unwieldy Wealth And Cumbrous Pomp Repose.

If You Were To Make Little Fishes Talk, They Would Talk Like Whales.

For The First Time, The Best May Err, Art May Persuade, And Novelty Spread Out Its Charms. The First Fault Is The Child Of Simplicity; But Every Other The Offspring Of Guilt.

In My Time, The Follies Of The Town Crept Slowly Among Us, But Now They Travel Faster Than A Stagecoach.