15. Mishap goes o'er thee like a summer cloud;
Cares thou hast none, and they who stand to hear thee,
Catch the infection and forget their own.
Rogers—Italy.
16. Nature for her favorite child,
In thee hath temper'd so her clay,
That every hour thy heart runs wild,
Yet never once doth go astray.
Wordsworth.
17. Your only labor is to kill the time,