Expect Poison From The Standing Water.

I Love Hanging And Drawing And Quartering Every Bit As Well As War And Slaughtering.

My Mother Bore Me In The Southern Wild, And I Am Black, But O! My Soul Is White; White As An Angel Is The English Child, But I Am Black As If Bereaved Of Light.

Forgive What You Do Not Approve & Love Me For This Energetic Exertion Of My Talent

Every Thing Possible To Be Believ'd Is An Image Of Truth.

Thou Fair-hair'd Angel Of The Evening, Now, Whilst The Sun Rests On The Mountains, Light Thy Bright Torch Of Love; Thy Radiant Crown Put On, And Smile Upon Our Evening Bed!