I Have More Care To Stay Than

The Sense Of Death Is Most In Apprehension.

Our Content Is Our Best Having.

I Have A Kind Soul That Would Give You Thanks. And Knows Not How To Do It But With Tears.

Feed On Her Damask Cheek: She Pined In Thought, And With A Green And Yellow Melancholy She Sat Like Patience On A Monument, Smiling At Grief

Let Fancy Still In My Sense In Lethe Steep; If It Be Thus To Dream, Still Let Me Sleep!