Go Let Thy Less Than Woman's Hand

And Angling Too, That Solitary Vice, What Izaak Walton Sings Or Says: The Quaint, Old, Cruel Coxcomb, In His Gullet Should Have A Hook, And A Small Trout To Pull It.

I Should Be Very Willing To Redress Men Wrongs, And Rather Check Than Punish Crimes, Had Not Cervantes, In That All Too True Tale Of Quixote, Shown How All Such Efforts Fail.

To Chase The Glowing Hours With Flying Feet.

There Is No Passion, More Spectral Or Fantastical Than Hate, Not Even Its Opposite, Love, So Peoples Air, With Phantoms, As This Madness Of The Heart.

Eternity Forbids Thee To Forget.