For Through The South The Custom Still

'tis Sweet To Know There Is An Eye Will Mark Our Coming, And Look Brighter When We Come.

But Every Fool Describes, In These Bright Days, His Wondrous Journey To Some Foreign Court, And Spawns His Quarto, And Demands Your Praise,-- Death To His Publisher, To Him 'tis Sport.

Sweet Is Revenge-especially To Women.

He Who Is Only Just Is Cruel; Who Upon The Earth Would Live Were All Judged Justly?

Admire, Exult, Despise, Laugh, Weep For Here There Is Such Matter For All Feelings: Man! Thou Pendulum Betwixt A Smile And Tear.