My Love Admits No Qualifying Dross

The Tartness Of His Face Sours Ripe Grapes.

In The Modesty Of Fearful Duty, I Read As Much As From The Rattling Tongue Of Saucy And Audacious Eloquence.

Confusion Now Hath Made His Masterpiece.

Foul Fiend Of France And Hag Of All Despite, Encompassed With Thy Lustful Paramours, Becomes It Thee To Taunt His Valiant Age And Twit With Cowardice A Man Half Dead?

A Politician... One That Would Circumvent God.