All Love's Pleasure Shall Not Match Its

Where Hateful Death Put On His Ugliest Mask.

The Spirit Of A Youth That Means To Be Of Note, Begins Betimes.

Rumour Is A Pipe Blown By Surmises, Jealousies, Conjectures And Of So Easy And So Plain A Stop That The Blunt Monster With Uncounted Heads, The Still-discordant Wavering Multitude, Can Play Upon It.

But The Strong Base And Building Of My Love Is As The Very Centre Of The Earth, Drawing All Things To It.

Every Man Has His Fault, And Honesty Is His.