It Is Very Iniquitous To Make Me

The Art Of Angling, The Cruelest, The Coldest And The Stupidest Of Pretended Sports.

They Say That Hope Is Happiness But Genuine Love Must Prize The Past; And Mem'ry Wakes The Thoughts That Bless: They Rose First -- They Set The Last. And All That Mem'ry Loves The Most Was Once Our Only Hope To Be: And All That Hope Adored And Lost Hath Melted Into Memory. Alas! It Is Delusion All-- The Future Cheats Us From Afar: Nor Can We Be What We Recall, Nor Dare We Think On What We Are.

Had Sigh'd To Many, Though He Loved But One.

Oh Who Can Tell, Save He Whose Heart Hath Tried.

One Hates An Author That's All Author.