Man's feeble race what ills await! Labour, and Penury, the racks of Pain,...
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Too poor for a bribe, and too proud to importune, he had not the method of making a fortune.
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Yet ah why should they know their fateSince sorrow never comes too late,And happiness too swiftly flies.Thought would destroy their paradise.No more where ignorance is bliss,'Tis folly to be wise.
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Commerce changes the fate and genius of nations.
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Modred, whose magic song Made huge Plinlimmon bow his cloud-topped head.
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The paths of glory lead but to the grave.
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'Weave the warp and weave the woof, The winding-sheet of Edward's race.
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"'Weave the warp and weave the woof, The winding-sheet of Edward's race.
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