I Happy Am, If Well With You.

To Sing Of Wars, Of Captains, And Of Kings/of Cities Founded, Common-wealths Begun/for My Mean Pen Are Too Superior Things.

The World No Longer Lets Me Love, My Hope And Treasure Are Above.

I Prize Thy Love More Than Whole Mines Of Gold Or All The Riches That The East Doth Hold.

Art Can Do Much, But This Maxim's Most Sure/a Weak Or Wounded Brain Admits No Cure.

If What I Do Prove Well, It Won't Advance. They'll Say It's Stolen, Or Else It Was By Chance.