A Lover's Eyes Will Gaze An Eagle

We Are Not Ourselves When Nature, Being Oppressed, Commands The Mind To Suffer With The Body.

But I, That Am Not Shaped For Sportive Tricks, Nor Made To Court An Amorous Looking-glass; I, That Am Rudely Stamped, And Want Love's Majesty To Strut Before A Wanton Ambling Nymph.

I Had Rather Be A Kitten, And Cry Mew, Than One Of These Same Meeter Ballad-mongers: I Had Rather Heare A Brazen Candlestick Turn'd, Or A Dry Wheele Grate On The Axle-tree, And That Would Set My Teeth Nothing An Edge, Nothing So Much, As Mincing Poetrie.

Tis The Times' Plague, When Madmen Lead The Blind.

You Peasant Swain! You Whoreson Malt-horse Drudge!