Adieu! 'tis love's last greeting, The parting hour is come! And fast thy soul is fleeting To seek its starry home.

Our friends, the enemy.

Gaily! gaily! close our ranks! Arm! Advance! Hope of France! Gaily! gaily! closed our ranks! Onward! Onward! Gauls and Franks!

Paradise is open to all kind hearts.

A man's reception depends upon his coat his dismissal upon the wit he shows.

Old age doth in sharp pains abound We are belabored by the gout, Our blindness is a dark profound, Our deafness each one laughs about. Then reason's light with falling ray Doth but a trembling flicker cast. Honor to age, ye children pay! Alas! my fifty years are past!

Many have lived on a pedestal who will never have a statue when dead.