Forget Thyself To Marble.

Or Sweetest Shakespeare, Fancy's Child!

This Is Servitude, To Serve The Unwise.

Meadows Trim With Daisies Pied, Shallow Brooks And Rivers Wide Towers And Battlements It Sees Bosom'd High In Tufted Trees, Where Perhaps Some Beauty Lies, The Cynosure Of Neighboring Eyes.

I Hate When Vice Can Bolt Her Arguments, And Virtue Has No Tongue To Check Her Pride.

And Feel By Turns The Bitter Change Of Fierce Extremes, Extremes By Change More Fierce.