I Would Fain Die A Dry Death.

Well Could He Ride, And Often Men Would Say, "that Horse His Mettle From His Rider Takes: Proud Of Subjection, Noble By The Sway, What Rounds, What Bounds, What Course, What Stop He Makes!" And Controversy Hence A Question Takes, Whether The Horse By Him Became His Deed, Or He His Manage By The Well-doing Steed.

I Cannot But Remember Such Things Were That Were Most Precious To Me.

This Wimpled, Whining, Purblind, Wayward Boy, This Senior Junior, Giant Dwarf...cupid.

We Do Not Keep The Outward Form Of Order, Where There Is Deep Disorder In The Mind.

You Are Yoked With A Lamb, That Carries Anger As The Flint Bears Fire; Who, Much Enforced, Shows A Hasty Spank, And Straight Is Cold Again.