Nor Shall Our Cups Make Any Guilty

The Man That Is Once Hated, Both His Good And His Evil Deeds Oppress Him.

Give Me A Look, Give Me A Face, That Makes Simplicity A Grace Robes Loosely Flowing, Hair As Free Such Sweet Neglect More Taketh Me Than All The Adulteries Of Art: They Strike Mine Eyes, But Not My Heart.

O! How Vain And Vile A Passion Is This Fear! What Base Uncomely Things It Makes Men Do.

Still May Syllables Jar With Time, Still May Reason War With Rhyme, Resting Never!

I'll Give Anything For A Good Copy Now, Be It True Or False, So It Be News.