Oliver Goldsmith

Careless their merits or their faults to scan,
His pity gave ere charity began.

Careless their merits or their faults to scan,
His pity gave ere charity began.

So the loud torrent, and the whirlwind's roar,
But bind him to his native mountains more.

So the loud torrent, and the whirlwind's roar,
But bind him to his native mountains more.

How blest is he who crowns in shades like these,
A youth of labour with an age of ease.

How blest is he who crowns in shades like these,
A youth of labour with an age of ease.

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.

Blest be those feasts, with simple plenty crowned,
Where all the ruddy family around
Laugh at the read more

Blest be those feasts, with simple plenty crowned,
Where all the ruddy family around
Laugh at the jests or pranks that never fail
Or sigh with pity at some mournful tale.