Grace Me No Grace, Nor Uncle Me

Yet Do I Fear Thy Nature; It Is Too Full O' The Milk Of Human Kindness.

And Send Him Many Years Of Sunshine Days!

I Humbly Do Beseech Of Your Pardon, For Too Much Loving You

For There's No Motion That Tends To Vice In Man, But I Affirm It Is The Woman's Part.

There Is Thy Gold, Worse Poison To Men's Souls, Doing More Murder In This Loathsome World, Than These Poor Compounds That Thou Mayst Not Sell.