If I Be Waspish, Best Beware My

A Harmless Necessary Cat.

What Valor Were It, When A Cur Doth Grin, For One To Thrust His Hand Between His Teeth, When He Might Spurn Him With His Foot Away?

For She Had Eyes And Chose Me.

Which Can Say More Than This Rich Praise, That You Alone Are You?

Therefore The Moon, The Governess Of Floods, Pale In Her Anger Washes All The Air, That Rheumatic Diseases Do Abound; And Through This Distemperature We See The Seasons Alter: Hoary-headed Frosts Fall In The Fresh Lap Of The Crimson Rose.