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.

I stew all night in my own grease.

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! '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!

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

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.