"Our simple life wants little, and true taste Hires not the pale drudge Luxury to waste The scene it would adorn, and therefore still Nature, with all her children, haunts the hill."
1. How, my dear Mary,--are you critic-bitten (For vipers kill, though dead) by some review, That you condemn these verses I have written, Because they tell no story, false or true?
By Miching Mallecho Is it a party in a parlour, Crammed just as they on earth were crammed, Some sipping punch--some sipping tea; But, as you by their faces see, All silent, and all--damned!