France Is A Dog-hole, And It No

I Had Rather Be A Kitten, And Cry Mew, Than One Of These Same Meeter Ballad-mongers: I Had Rather Heare A Brazen Candlestick Turn'd, Or A Dry Wheele Grate On The Axle-tree, And That Would Set My Teeth Nothing An Edge, Nothing So Much, As Mincing Poetrie.

This Is The Very Ecstasy Of Love, Whose Violent Property Ordoes Itself And Leads The Will To Desperate Undertakings.

When Most I Wink, Then Do My Eyes Best See

Never Shame To Hear What You Have Nobly Done

A Wild Dedication Of Yourselves To Undiscovered Waters, Undreamed Shores.