I Am One, Sir, That Comes To

Love, Therefore, And Tongue-tied Simplicity In Least Speak Most, To My Capacity.

Proper Deformity Shows Not In The Fiend So Horrid As In Woman.

He's All My Exercise, My Mirth, My Matter.

Why, Universal Plodding Poisons Up The Nimble Spirits In The Arteries, As Motion And Long-during Action Tires The Sinewy Vigor Of The Traveller.

The Gray-eyed Morn Smiles On The Frowning Night, Checkering The Eastern Clouds With Streaks Of Light.