I feel in every smile a chain.

Discord, a sleepless hag who never dies, With Snipe-like nose, and Ferret-glowing eyes, Lean sallow cheeks, long chin with beard supplied, Poor crackling joints, and wither'd parchment hide, As if old Drums, worn out with martial din, Had clubb'd their yellow Heads to form her Skin.

Talk no more of the lucky escape of the head From a flint so unhappily thrown; I think very different from thousands; indeed 'Twas a lucky escape for the stone.

What's the use of worrying? It never was worth while, so Pack up your troubles in your old kit-bag, And smile, smile, smile.

A smile that glow'd Celestial rosy red, love's proper hue.

For smiles from reason flow To brute deny'd, and are of love the food.