Give us enough but with a sparing hand.

A narrow compass! and yet there Dwelt all that 's good, and all that 's fair; Give me but what this riband bound, Take all the rest the sun goes round.

The seas are quiet when the winds give o'er; So calm are we when passions are no more!

Vexed sailors cursed the rain, for which poor shepherds prayed in vain.

All human things Of dearest value hang on slender strings.

Tea does our fancy aid, Repress those vapours which the head invade And keeps that palace of the soul serene.