In all the silent manliness of grief. - Oliver Goldsmith

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

The best-humour'd man, with the worst-humour'd Muse.

In arguing too, the parson owned his skill,
For e'en though vanquished, he could argue still;
While words of learned length, and thundering sound
Amazed the gazing rustics ranged around;
And still they gazed, and still the wonder grew,
That one small head could carry all he knew.