For Everything Exists And Not One Sigh

My Silks And Fine Array, My Smiles And Languished Air, By Love Are Driv'n Away And Mournful Lean Despair Brings Me Yew To Deck My Grave: Such End True Lovers Have.

The Man Who Never In His Mind & Thoughts Travel'd To Heaven Is No Artist.

The Hand Of Vengeance Found The Bed To Which The Purple Tyrant Fled The Iron Hand Crush'd The Tyrant's Head And Became Tyrant In His Stead.

For I Dance And Drink And Sing, Till Some Blind Hand Shall Brush My Wing. If Thought Is Life And Strength And Breath And The Want Of Thought Is Death Then Am I A Happy Fly If I Live Or If I Die

General Good Is The Plea Of The Scoundrel, Hypocite, Flatterer.