He Lies Like A Hedgehog Rolled Up

Oh! God! That Bread Should Be So Dear, And Flesh And Blood So Cheap!

A Certain Portion Of The Human Race Has Certainly A Taste For Being Diddled.

My Tears Must Stop, For Every Drop Hinders Needle And Thread.

Father Of Rosy Day, No More Thy Clouds Of Incense Rise; But Waking Flow'rs, At Morning Hours, Give Out Their Sweets To Meet Thee In The Skies.

Extremes Meet', As The Whiting Said With Its Tail In Its Mouth.