I Cannot Tell What The Dickens His

The Truest Poetry Is The Most Feigning.

When Truth Kills Truth, O Devilish Holy Fray!

Discuss Unto Me: Art Thou Officer, Or Art Thou Base, Common, And Popular?

Before Thee Stands This Fair Hesperides, With Golden Fruit, But Dangerous To Be Touched; For Death-like Dragons Here Affright Thee Hard.

No Beast So Fierce But Knows Some Touch Of Pity. But I Know None, And Therefore Am No Beast.