Fame Is The Spur That The Clear

Let Her (truth) And Falsehood Grapple; Who Ever Knew Truth Put To The Worse In A Free And Open Encounter?

Accuse Not Nature: She Hath Done Her Part; Do Thou But Thine.

The Leaf Was Darkish, And Had Prickles On It, But In Another Country, As He Said, Bore A Bright Golden Flow'r, But Not In This Soil; Unknown, And Like Esteem'd, And The Dull Swain Treads On It Daily With His Clouted Shoon.

Spirits When They Please Can Either Sex Assume, Or Both.

O Fleeting Joys Of Paradise, Dear Bought With Lasting Woes!