Up! up! my friend, and quit your books, Or surely you 'll grow double! Up! up! my friend, and clear your looks!

Call for the robin-redbreast and the wren, Since o'er shady groves they hover, And with leaves and flowers do cover The friendless bodies of unburied men.

No man can feel himself alone The while he bravely stands Between the best friends ever known his two good, honest hands.

Friends I have had both old and young, And ale we drank and songs we sung: Enough you know when this is said, That, one and all, they died in bed. In bed they died and l'll not go Where all my friends have perished so.

I remember that a wise friend of mine did usually say, "That which is everybody's business is nobody's business."

A good book is the best of friends, the same to-day and for ever. Of Reading.

I thought of Chatterton, the marvelous boy, The sleepless soul that perished in his pride; Of him who walked in glory and in joy, Following his plough, along the mountain-side. By our own spirits we are deified; We poets in our youth begin in gladness, But thereof come in the and despondency and madness.

Youth, large, lusty, loving-youth, full of grace, farce, fascination! Do you know that Old Age may come after you, with equal grace, force, fascination?

A happy youth, and their old age is beautiful and free.

Fly, like a youthful hart or roe, Over the hills where spices grow.