No Man's Pie Is Freed From His

And Mind, With My Heart In't; And Now Farewell Till Half An Hour Hence.

Have Not Saints Lips, And Holy Palmers Too Ay, Pilgrim, Lips That They Must Use In Prayer.

Thou Art The Best O' The Cut-throats

Some Men Never Seem To Grow Old. Always Active In Thought, Always Ready To Adopt New Ideas, They Are Never Chargeable With Foggyism. Satisfied, Yet Ever Dissatisfied, Settled, Yet Ever Unsettled, They Always Enjoy The Best Of What Is, Are The First To Find The Best Of What Will Be.

Now Stand You On The Top Of Happy Hours, And Many Maiden Gardens Yet Unset, With Virtuous Wish Would Bear You Living Flowers, Much Liker Than Your Painted Counterfeit: So Should The Lines Of Life That Life Repair Which This, Time's Pencil, Or My Pupil Pen Neither In Inward Worth Nor Outward Fair Can Make You Live Your Self In Eyes Of Men.