Silence Is Become His Mother Tongue.

The Watch-dog's Voice That Bay'd The Whispering Wind, And The Loud Laugh That Spoke The Vacant Mind.

Error Is Always Talkative.

As For Murmurs, Mother, We Grumble A Little Now And Then, To Be Sure; But There's No Love Lost Between Us.

The Pictures Placed For Ornament And Use, The Twelve Good Rules, The Royal Game Of Goose.

Thou Source Of All My Bliss And All My Woe, That Found'st Me Poor At First, And Keep'st Me So.