Oliver Goldsmith

These little things are great to little man.

Pride in their port, defiance in their eye, I see the lords of humankind pass by.

The watch-dog's voice that bay'd the whispering wind, And the loud laugh that spoke the vacant mind.

I love everything that's old: old friends, old times, old manners, old books, old wine.

Hope, like the gleaming taper's light, Adorns and cheers our way; And still, as darker grows the night, Emits a brighter ray.

To the last moment of his breath, On hope the wretch relies; And even the pang preceding death Bids expectation rise.

Like the bee, we should make our industry our amusement.

His best companions, innocence and health; And his best riches, ignorance of wealth.

Luke's iron crown, and Damien's bed of steel.

And e'en while fashion's brightest arts decoy, The heart distrusting asks if this be joy.