Charles Sprague

"Lo where the stage, the poor, degraded stage, Holds its warped mirror to a gaping age."

"Through life’s dark road his sordid way he wends, An incarnation of fat dividends."

"Behold! in Liberty’s unclouded blaze We lift our heads, a race of other days."

"Yes, social friend, I love thee well, In learned doctors’ spite; Thy clouds all other clouds dispel, And lap me in delight."

"Gay, guiltless pair, What seek ye from the fields of heaven? Ye have no need of prayer, Ye have no sins to be forgiven."