He Hath Eaten Me Out Of House

The Crown O' The Earth Doth Melt. My Lord! O, Wither'd Is The Garland Of The War, The Soldier's Pole Is Fall'n: Young Boys And Girls Are Level Now With Men; The Odds Is Gone, And There Is Nothing Left Remarkable Beneath The Visiting Moon.

Past All Shame, So Past All Truth.

Spirits Are Not Finely Touched But To Fine Issues, Nor Nature Never Lends The Smallest Scruple Of Her Excellence But Like A Thrifty Goddess She Determines Herself The Glory Of A Creditor,both Thanks And Use.

See Where She Comes Apparelled Like The Spring.

Get Thee Glass Eyes, And Like A Scurvy Politician, Seem To See The Things Thou Dost Not.