By Headless Charles See Heartless Henry Lies.

They Truly Mourn, That Mourn Without A Witness.

What's Drinking? A Mere Pause From Thinking!

And Angling Too, That Solitary Vice, What Izaak Walton Sings Or Says: The Quaint, Old, Cruel Coxcomb, In His Gullet Should Have A Hook, And A Small Trout To Pull It.

My Heart In Passion, And My Head On Rhymes.

Earth! Render Back From Out Thy Breast A Remnant Of Our Spartan Dead! Of The Three Hundred Grant But Three, To Make A New Thermopylæ!