And I Made A Rural Pen, And

Ah, Sunflower, Weary Of Time, Who Countest The Steps Of The Sun, Seeking After That Sweet Golden Clime Where The Traveller's Journey Is Done; Where The Youth Pined Away With Desire And The Pale Virgin Shrouded In Snow Arise From Their Graves, And Aspire Where My Sunflower Wishes To Go.

A Truth That's Told With Bad Intent Beats All The Lies You Can Invent.

The Stolen And Perverted Writings Of Homer & Ovid, Of Plato & Cicero, Which All Men Ought To Contemn, Are Set Up By Artifice Against The Sublime Of The Bible

To Chloe's Breast Young Cupid Slily Stole, But He Crept In At Myra's Pocket-hole.

If You Have Formed A Circle To Go Into,go Into It Yourself And See How You Would Do.