Oliver Goldsmith

At night returning, every labour sped,
He sits him down, the monarch of a shed;
Smiles by read more

At night returning, every labour sped,
He sits him down, the monarch of a shed;
Smiles by his cheerful fire, and round surveys
His children's looks, that brighten at the blaze;
While his lov'd partner, boastful of her hoard,
Displays her cleanly platter on the board.

Blame where you must, be candid where you can,
And be each critic the Good-natured Man.

Blame where you must, be candid where you can,
And be each critic the Good-natured Man.

I hate the French because they are all slaves and wear wooden
shoes.

I hate the French because they are all slaves and wear wooden
shoes.

And his best riches, ignorance of wealth.

And his best riches, ignorance of wealth.

There is no arguing with him, for if his pistol misses fire, he knocks you down with the butt end read more

There is no arguing with him, for if his pistol misses fire, he knocks you down with the butt end of it.