So Much One Man Can Do That

My Love Is Of A Birth As Rare As 'tis, For Object, Strange And High; It Was Begotten By Despair Upon Impossibility.

Though I Carry Always Some Ill-nature About Me, Yet It Is, I Hope, No More Than Is In This World Necessary For A Preservative.

This Indigested Vomit Of The Sea,fell To The Dutch By Just Propriety.

Now Let Us Sport Us While We May; And Now, Like Amorous Birds Of Prey, Rather At Once Our Time Devour, Than Languish In His Slow-chapped Power.

The Grave's A Fine And Private Place, But None, I Think, Do There Embrace.