Common Thistle.... Misanthropy.
Who would seek or prize
Delights that end in aching?
Who would trust to ties
That every hour are breaking?
Better far to be
In utter darkness lying,
Than be blest with light, and see
That light for ever flying.
All that’s bright must fade,—
The brightest still the fleetest,
All that’s sweet was made
But to be lost when sweetest!
Moore.
I had much rather see
A crested dragon or a basilisk,
Both are less poison to my eyes and nature.
Dryden.
Hate all, curse all: show charity to none;
But let the famished flesh slide from the bone,
Ere thou relieve the beggar: give to dogs
What thou deniest to men; let prisons swallow them,
Debts wither them to nothing: be men like blasted woods,
And may diseases lick up their false bloods.
I am Misanthropos, and hate mankind:
For thy part, I do wish thou wert a dog,
That I might love thee something.
Shakspeare.