Come, And Take Choice Of All My

You Know That I Do Fawn On Men, And Hug Them Hard, And After Scandal Them.

He Capers, He Dances, He Has Eyes Of Youth, He Writes Verses, He Speaks Holiday, He Smells April And May.

Either Our History Shall With Full Mouth Speak Freely Of Our Acts, Or Else Our Grave, Like Turkish Mute, Shall Have A Tongueless Mouth, Not Worshipped With A Waxen Epitaph.

Past All Shame, So Past All Truth.

Hell Is Empty And All The Devils Are Here.