Hermit hoar, in solemn cell, wearing out life’s evening gray

 

“Hermit hoar, in solemn cell, wearing out life’s evening gray. Smite thy bosom, sage, and tell, what is bliss, and which the way? Thus I spoke, and speaking sighed, scarce repressed a starting tear. When the smiling sage reply’d, come, my lad, and drink some beer.” — Samuel Johnson

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