But to me Not one of these deserves the praise That welcomer of new-born days, A breakfast, merits; ever giving Cheerful notice we are living Another day refresh'd by sleep, When its festival we keep.

O y'are a cunning boy, and taught to lie, For your Lords credit; but thou knowest, a lie, That bears this sound, is welcomer to me, Than any truth that saies he loves me not.

If it don't, I assure you no letter was ever welcomer from, you, from Paris or Macao.