How Poor Are They That Have Have

Virtue Is Chok'd With Foul Ambition

What Freezings I Have Felt, What Dark Days Seen, What Old December's Bareness Everywhere!

The Pleasant'st Angling Is To See The Fish Cut With Her Golden Oars The Silver Stream And Greedily Devour The Treacherous Bait.

I Have Almost Forgotten The Taste Of Fears: The Time Has Been, My Senses Would Have Cool’d To Hear A Night-shriek; And My Fell Of Hair Would At A Dismal Treatise Rouse And Stir As Life Were In’t: I Have Supt Full With Horrors; Direness, Familiar To My Slaughterous Thoughts, Cannot Once Start Me.

Our Very Eyes Are Sometimes, Like Our Judgments, Blind.