T Is The Will That Makes The

Next, When I Cast Mine Eyes And See That Brave Vibration Each Way Free, O How That Glittering Taketh Me!

Welcome, Maids Of Honor, You Doe Bring In The Spring, And Wait Upon Her.

In Sober Mornings Do Not Thou Rehearse The Holy Incantation Of A Verse

When Words We Want, Love Teacheth To Indite; And What We Blush To Speak, She Bids Us Write.

None Pities Him That Is In The Snare, Who Warned Before, Would Not Beware.