Slave To No Sect, Who Takes No

Dear Fatal Name! Rest Ever Unreveal'd, Nor Pass These Lips In Holy Silence Seal'd. Hide It, My Heart, Within That Close Disguise, Where Mixed With Gods, His Lov'd Idea Lies: O Write It Not, My Hand - The Name Appears Already Written - Wash It Out, My Tears! In Vain Lost Eloisa Weeps And Prays, Her Heart Still Dictates, And Her Hand Obeyes.

Bear, Like The Turk, No Brother Near The Throne.

Fair Tresses Man's Imperial Race Ensnare; And Beauty Draws Us With A Single Hair.

What Bosom Beast Not In His Country's Cause?

Virtue, I Grant You, Is An Empty Boast; But Shall The Dignity Of Vice Be Lost?