Date: 1803

"How shall I touch his iron soul with pain, / Who hears unmoved a multitude complain?"

— Chatterton, Thomas (1752-1770)

Date: 1803

"In thee each virtue found a pleasing cell, / Thy mind was honour, and thy soul divine"

— Chatterton, Thomas (1752-1770)

Date: 1803

"He stammers,--instantaneously is drawn / A bordered piece of inspiration-lawn, / Which being thrice unto his nose applied, / Into his pineal gland the vapours glide; / And now again we hear the doctor roar / On subjects he dissected thrice before."

— Chatterton, Thomas (1752-1770)

Date: 1803

"Sermons, though flowing from the sacred lawn, / Are flimsy wires from reason's ingot drawn."

— Chatterton, Thomas (1752-1770)

Date: 1803

"Though, when black melancholy damps my joys, / I call them nature's trifles, airy toys; / Yet when the goddess Reason guides the strain, / I think them, what they are, a heavenly train."

— Chatterton, Thomas (1752-1770)