Art Thou Not, Fatal Vision, Sensible To

Temptation Is The Fire That Brings Up The Scum Of The Heart.

O, Let My Books Be Then The Eloquence And Dumb Presages Of My Speaking Breast.

To Think But Nobly Of My Grandmother: Good Wombs Have Borne Bad Sons.

The Seasons Change Their Manners, As The Year Had Found Some Months Asleep And Leapt Them Over.

Fishes Live In The Sea, As Men Do A-land; The Great Ones Eat Up The Little Ones.